


The Way Things Turn

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: Firefly
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Simon is separated from the rest of the crew during a Reaver attack, the last person he expects to be rescued by is Jayne Cobb.  How will the two men survive being abandoned together on a desolate rock?</p><p>Use mouseover for translation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Reavers attack Gainsborough, Simon Tam is unprepared for the level of fear and revulsion that smothers him. It's debilitating and emeticising and as he cowers in the corner of the open pharmacy safe, pills and liquiform morphine pooling beside him, he can hear the crunch of bone--dear _god_ don't let it be teeth against bone--emanating from the narrow entrance lobby.

Simon's always been an over-thinker and rather than using this to help him get away from here, instead he's imagining what it would be like to be eaten alive. He's met survivors, if you can call them that--flesh stripped away in chunks, eyes bright with insanity--and as a clinician has secretly wondered what causes the psychosis. Are the Reavers just victims of an unknown disease? If he survives this will he slowly but surely turn cannibal, infected with some new form of retrovirus? Maybe he'll be able to document the onset and be published by medical journals before he splits his own tongue with a scalpel and demolishes the crew of Serenity for dinner. Who will he choose to rape and eat first?

The sounds coming from the open doorway are nothing short of disgusting. Garbled sentences are accompanied by this sucking, cracking, squelching abomination and if Simon closes his eyes he can picture the scene in its full horror. Keeping them open he puts his sight to better use, shuffling forward and peering out into the drug store as he checks for any possible exits that aren't smothered by a swarm of monsters. This proves to be a pointless exercise once he ascertains that there _are_ no other ways out of the building.

As the noises grow louder Simon curls up and clutches his knees in despair. Screams of rage fill the air then there's this stupendous boom accompanied by a sudden build up of pressure in his eardrums and, after that, all he can hear is ringing and hissing. Staring fixedly at his feet, he watches globules of blood dripping in dense, dark spots onto the floor just beyond his toes and, when he finally steels himself to look up, he sees a gore-drenched humanoid looming over him. It's then he realises that he's about to find out, in intricate detail, the answers to all those questions.

"Doc. Doc, are you alright? Y'ain't been snacked on yet, have you?"

Simon is barely able to make out these words through the tinnitus, but, as realisation dawns, he stares up slack-jawed, unable to believe that he could ever be so pleased to see Jayne Cobb. Blinking from shock, he gazes at the mercenary and it's like being born again. He has a new found faith in living because the one thing that this degenerate man can do exceptionally well is survive.

"Jayne," he says with utter relief.

"Are you okay enough to make it out here on your own or do I gotta carry you?"

"I'm fine." Simon slowly comes to his senses and gets to his feet, holding on to the wall for support. "Are they gone?" he asks, peering in the direction of the entrance.

"For now, but they'll be back so's you best see how fast those stick legs of yours can move 'fore they get gnawed on," the man replies as bluntly as ever.

"Is it necessary to be so graphic?" Simon wants to say more, but he bites his tongue because, right now, the only thing standing between him and the most horrifying death imaginable is Jayne Cobb.

"Ain't necessary, but it's worth it for that pinched look on your face," grins Jayne, slapping Simon on the backside in a way that is completely inappropriate at any time but even more so in their current situation. "Get moving then."

Grabbing that big hand before it makes another unwanted assault on his body, Simon notices that blood is flowing freely. It appears that Jayne didn't escape this rescue mission without injury. When does that ever happen? The man has very little regard for his own safety.

"D'you _wanna_ get ate?" Jayne curls his arm around Simon's waist in a gesture that once again is more than a little disconcerting.

Ignoring the ever-present desire to fix the mercenary's grammar, Simon hunts though the items on the pharmacy shelves. "Those lacerations of yours need attention." Something catches Simon's eye on one of the lower racks and, shrugging Jayne off him, he crouches down to look at the row of all purpose first aid kits -- not perfect, but better than nothing. One of those along with the meds he's already pilfered should be enough for a temporary fix until they get back home to Serenity. Has it really come to the point where he thinks of that broken down spaceship as home? Slipping the plastic box inside his bag, Simon resists the urge to leave payment.

"Doc?" Jayne's staring at him with a look of puzzlement in those sharp blue eyes. "If'n we don't get out of here now then we're gonna need a whole heap more treatment than plain old bandages. Come _on_."

A hand hauls Simon to his feet and then keeps hold of his arm, tugging him through the aisles of the store. "Take this," says Jayne, handing him a pistol. "Know you ain't much of a shot, but as long as you keep it aimed well away from my backside then you may hit something worthwhile."

Caught unaware, Simon is transfixed by the Armageddon-like scene of devastation inside the lobby. Body parts litter the floor, flesh blackened from explosive charges, some of it desecrated by teeth marks with muscle ripped away to the bone.

"Don't look too hard," says Jayne and it's a worthwhile recommendation. The only time Simon dares to glance down is when his foot makes hard contact with a ball like object and he watches in horror as a head spins away from him coming to rest in a pile of mangled cadavers. It has its eyes sewn shut.

The noises from outside grow louder and Jayne spits out instructions in a low voice. "We're gonna have to fight our way out, Doc. I got a mule outside and a plan to head west toward them mines we saw when we was landing."

"What about Serenity?" says Simon. River's on board and he must get back to her as soon as possible. She's stable now but she still needs him.

"That part of town's been cut off from us. They'll be safe where they are though." Jayne gives Simon's arm a quick squeeze and a second later he's out of the doors, firing off rounds from his assault rifle like a real soldier. Sometimes Simon forgets that Jayne _is_ a real soldier when it counts.

"Mule's still there," yells Jayne. "You up for driving it so's I can keep picking off these _hundan_?"

"Yes," replies Simon, because one look at the army of cannibals that's approaching tells him that he's prepared for anything that might keep them intact for a while longer.

Slipping the strap of the canvas bag over his head like a satchel, Simon fires his pistol at the horde of creatures, trying not to notice they way they fight like demons over their own dying.

"Don't look," repeats Jayne, encouraging him to move speedily towards the vehicle with a guiding hand on the small of his back.

Can he actually drive one of these things? wonders Simon as he climbs astride the mule. Jayne follows suit except that he's facing the other way around, leaning precariously over the rear safety bar as he unhitches the empty trailer with one hand and fires at the Reavers with the other.

"Follow the track up into them hills."

Simon takes note of where Jayne's pointing and does as he's asked, feet and hands intuitively working together to operate the vehicle. It's a long way to the mine and the terrain becomes increasingly dangerous, but concentrating on driving helps takes his mind off the blanket of fear that's been smothering him for hours. He tries not to freak out too much when one of the Reavers' harpoons makes a direct hit on the mule and the machine grinds to a terrifying halt in a shower of blue sparks. Not enamoured by the idea of exploding into a ball of fire, Simon leaps free and rolls over and over in the dirt, ending up lying next to the mercenary.

"Run," yells Jayne, scrabbling to get to his feet and for the first time ever there's undiluted fear present in the man's voice.

Simon moves instinctively through the boulders, knowing without looking that the Reavers have disembarked from their transporter and are close on their tail; he can tell precisely where they are from that putrid scent that's being carried on the breeze. Slithering back down the track on a small avalanche of shale he's horrified to discover, when he looks up, that Jayne has vanished from sight. For a moment Simon is left alone and it's only fierce pride that stops him from urinating in his pants, but then the mercenary's face appears from a narrow opening in the rock.

"Are you coming, or are you planning on serving yourself up to them for supper?"

That sudden, toothy grin restores Simon's nascent faith and he follows the mercenary through the shroud of foliage and on into a roughly hewn tunnel.

"Rutting miracle I found this place," says Jayne, holding up a miniature flashlight he's taken from one of his myriad pockets and peering ahead of him into the darkness. "One of the secondary shafts maybe," he adds a little dubiously.

Too small, thinks Simon. More likely it's an emergency escape exit or evidence of much earlier mining; however this isn't the time to nitpick.

Whilst Jayne is checking out what lies ahead Simon's eyes are fixed on the circle of murky daylight behind them. "Will they find us in here?" he asks.

"Reckon not," says Jayne. "As long as luck stays on our side and they don't got your fancy scent in their nostrils."

The hint of a tense smile does nothing to reassure Simon. "And if they have?" he asks.

"Then we're humped, Doc."

This sentence turns out to be all too prescient as the natural light from the entrance diminishes and grunted half-words echo down the tunnel.

"Take the Maglite and get in front of me," breathes Jayne in a voice that's so tight and dry that Simon can tell he's on the verge of panic. Everyone knows that the only thing likely to give Jayne a severe case of the heebie-jeebies is a Reaver attack.

Obeying instruction without argument, Simon squeezes past the mercenary, grazing his forearm on the craggy surface of the rock in the process. Jayne feels solid and warm behind him and this quick reminder of humanity is a comfort, especially when surrounded by cold, dank horror.

As Reavers swarm up the passageway towards them, all Simon can hear is a frantic rattling of bullets and then a dull clunk as Jayne reloads a few steps behind him. He's racing as fast as his legs will carry him, skidding on the wet surface as the tunnel takes a steep downturn into the bowels of the mountain.

"Tell me which way to go," gasps Jayne as he slams backwards into the rock face for a second time.

Simon does his best to give directions. "Duck," he shouts when there's a sudden restriction of height. "To your left then down," he yells although he's fully aware that this desperate attempt to escape is pointless. The Reavers are gaining ground; that sweet, noxious smell is filling his lungs and he knows if he breathes in any more of it then he's going to vomit. Hysteria builds until he's on the verge of giving up and throwing himself into their scarified arms, but the dull thud and muffled yelp from behind him acts as a wake up call and he looks back in horror to see Jayne pinned to the ground by two snarling shapes. Praying for guidance, Simon aims both flashlight and pistol with shaky hands and then pulls the trigger again and again until the gun is empty.

Inexplicably, Jayne survives the shower of bullets. Dragging himself free from the two bodies the man stumbles to his feet and looks back at Simon, his face an eerie mask in the bluish, halogen light. "Y'aint gonna like this, Doc," he says, his fist making a controlled underarm swing. "Get 'round the corner and down. Quick."

Simon runs like the wind then slams himself to the ground, knowing what's coming and hating the idea precisely the way Jayne had predicted. Lying prone, cheek pressed tight against the cold, wet floor, he grunts as a heavy body lands over him in a protective covering. When the grenade explodes there's this thunderous echo as rocks tumble to the ground and Simon knows, _prays_ that this is how his days are going to end, because it could all be so much worse.

They remain still for the longest time, cloaked in pitch darkness, until Simon is suddenly filled with belief that the mercenary has died in the blast and he's been left here all alone. "Jayne," he whispers urgently, trying to move and feeling pain blossom in his outstretched arms. "_Jayne_!"

The warm body that's smothering him shifts to one side and Simon fumbles around for the flashlight, hoping against hope that it still works. Shaking it causes light to flood into the narrow passage and he directs the beam at his companion. "Are you alright?" Vocal cords tense up and his voice comes out as little more than a creak. Suppose Jayne _isn't_ alright. What will he do then?

"'M okay. Just shook up some," comes the answer and Simon heaves a sigh of relief.

Jayne shifts slowly until he's leaning against the cave wall. "What can you see?" he asks.

Simon pulls himself to a standing position in hope that his muscles will stop trembling sometime in the near future. Aiming the flashlight, he peers into the black hole that lies ahead of them. "More of the same."

"Well then, we best get moving before the batteries run out."

Jayne lets out this soft grunt of pain as he gets to his feet and Simon's worry increases tenfold.

"Are you certain you're alright?"

"Bashed up a little is all, Doc, but we ain't got time to think about that now." Jayne takes the flashlight from him and forges ahead down the passageway, almost bent double as the ceiling height lowers some more. "They weren't wrong about dwarves being miners, I reckon," he says with a stilted laugh that ricochets off the rock face.

Simon follows close on his heels, weighing up in his mind how much danger they're actually in. Things don't appear to be good. They're buried alive in an unknown part of the mine with no food and a light source that won't last for long. "Do we have spare batteries?" he asks.

"Nope." Jayne lets out this huff of concern. "I got one smaller Maglite and that's it. If we need to rest then we do it in darkness, _dong ma?_"

Simon bites back another facetious answer. It irks him the way Jayne always treats him like a fool over any kind of practical matter. He's a trauma surgeon for god's sake--how much more practical can you get?--and yet in Jayne's eyes he appears to be less useful than one of Wash's dinosaurs.

They carry on walking at fast pace until the passageway widens out into a junction and then splits in two. Looking from one tunnel to the other Jayne sighs and then sinks down into a squat. "Want something to eat?" he asks, not waiting for an answer, just snapping the protein bar in half then passing a piece over. Simon takes it gratefully and crouches next to the big man, avoiding the trickle of water that runs along the ground. They might be glad of that soon enough.

They eat their meagre rations cloaked in darkness and sombre silence. "What do we do now?" asks Simon when the quiet begins to get to tear at his already shredded nerves.

Jayne laughs bitterly. "Was hoping your book smarts would help us out here," he says. "One of the passages goes down steeper than the other. Which do you reckon we should try first?"

Isn't that typical? Finally the mercenary values Simon's opinion when he's totally out of his depth and lost in some caves on an unfamiliar planet. He's about to make a snappy retort about Jayne's bad sense of timing when something niggles at the back of his mind. "Do you carry a cigar lighter on you?" he asks.

"Well yeah, but having a smoke ain't gonna help us out of here." The mercenary's tone is derisory and Simon can imagine the eye rolling that's going on.

"Hand it to me," he says patiently, pretending that it's River he's dealing with. "The Maglite too."

Grumbling a little, Jayne passes over the items and, again, Simon gains a surprising amount of comfort from that bigger hand resting against his. He's never been afraid of the dark, however he does suffer from slight claustrophobia and being lost inside this mine is pushing him close to madness.

Simon stands up and switches on the flashlight then approaches the right hand tunnel, flicking on the lighter and holding the flame into the opening. Sidestepping to his left he raises the lighter and the flame is instantly extinguished. "This way," he says, feeling rather cocky.

"What in the hell?"

Simon points the beam of light towards Jayne who's slowly and painfully getting to his feet. The eerie, pale light is probably the reason for the greyish tinge to Jayne's skin, but Simon's physician instincts kick in and he desperately wants to give the man a check up and tend to some of those wounds. Unfortunately they haven't the time.

"The airflow shows that the exit's closer in this direction," he explains, and to be honest he feels far too much pride at the impressed look on Jayne's face. "It's just something I read once."

"Something gorram useful." That brilliant smile is back on Jayne's face and, grabbing the flashlight, he charges down the passageway at full pelt with Simon struggling to keep up behind him.

The tunnel widens out and things are beginning to seem cautiously optimistic when Jayne comes to sudden halt and Simon runs smack into him. The man is a wall of solid muscle; the impact hurts and he's about to complain when Jayne pulls him close against his body and slaps a dirty palm over his mouth. Words whisper breathy against his ear and Simon breaks out into a rash of gooseflesh.

"If'n you don't want to get raped and ate then you keep quiet, _dong ma?_"

Listening carefully, Simon can hear the thing that stopped Jayne dead in his tracks. From the distance comes a muted cacophony of Reaver sounds that's frightening enough to bring a rush of bile to his throat.

"Stay here," whispers Jayne, letting Simon go. "You can keep this with you." He hands over the torch then, having extracted a tiny penlight from one of his many pockets, he's off into the darkness leaving Simon all on his own, surrounded by a stifling silence that's broken only by the drip-drip-drip of seep water.

For the first time in years Simon's overwhelmed by the urge to cry and this comes as a shock because he didn't think he had it in him any more. Over the course of time, the business with River has wrung every emotion out of him until there's nothing left inside but practical solutions to problematic issues. Or so he thought until today. Breath clattering in his throat he wrenches back the tears, praying hard that Jayne will come back to him soon.

Time passes--far too much time--and unable to cope Simon shuts down. Collapsing into a niche in the rock he switches off the light to conserve batteries and, with eyes closed, sinks back into the comforting memories of his pampered, carefree childhood.


	2. Chapter 2

"Doc. Doc? _Simon_!"

A boot makes contact with Simon's ankle, waking him out of his dream state and he clicks on the light then looks up at Jayne.

"_Tsao ni zuzong shiba dai_," yelps the big man then he covers his mouth in a gesture that's surprisingly childlike.

Squatting down, Jayne reaches an arm out; whether it's to steady himself or to convince himself that he's no longer alone, Simon's not certain.

"_Wo de ma_," he murmurs, his fingers squeezing compulsively at Simon's shoulder. "I figured they must've got you."

"They?" Simon shrivels inside and curls in on himself, instinctively pushing into Jayne's touch.

Jayne changes position and sits next to him, leaning in until his mouth is resting against Simon's ear. "Good news is I found the main shaft of the mine. Elevator's working so there's a way out an' all."

"And the bad news?" Simon little more than mouths the words, but Jayne gets the gist of them.

"The pit is full of the rutting sumbitches," he says. "We're gonna have to hole up somewhere 'til they have a mind to move on."

Simon looks around him and silently begins to freak out. Hole up? Is Jayne expecting them to wait it out here with no light and no food, licking seep water out of the crevices in the rocks? "We can't…" he begins to say, then corrects his statement as the fear builds to fever pitch. "Jayne, _I_ can't do this." An arm slides across his shoulders and Simon's never been so grateful for the comfort.

"You ain't got a choice," says Jayne and his fingers do that squeezing thing again. "Listen to me, Doc. There's supplies down there and plenty of them by the look of things. I can get us everything we need to keep going for a while."

Simon freezes. He can't quite believe he's going to say these words. "We go together or not at all."

"Caught some of that crazy off of your sister, have you?" Jayne smirks, his expression slightly menacing in the blue-tinted light. "Would've helped more if'n you'd caught some of her fighting skills."

Simon knows what the mercenary wants: a chance to put him in his place so he can go off and play the big, strong hero, but he's not rising to the bait. Instead he says simply, "You're not fit. You need someone along to help you."

"How many times do I gotta explain that I ain't hurt bad?"

"Tell me this," Simon says coolly. "Are you able to carry equipment and fire that rifle at the same time if needs be?"

When Jayne's determined gaze grows shifty Simon knows that he's won. "Right, then," he says, steeling himself for what lies ahead, "we finally agree on something."

"I gotta load up your revolver first."

Simon shakes his head. "Give me the bullets and show me how to do it."

Jayne cocks his head to one side and in the dimming light Simon can see that this time the puzzlement is tinged with admiration. That look means a lot, more than it would under normal circumstances. He listens carefully to Jayne's quiet instructions and slips the rounds into the chamber then, having stowed the box of ammunition away in his bag, he nods his readiness.

"Let's get going," murmurs Jayne in that tight voice and Simon can hear the extent of the man's fear at the thought of sneaking around inside a lair full of Reavers. It doesn't do a lot to help him relax.

Sticking as close to Jayne as he can get, Simon tries not to think what might lie ahead of them. As the tunnel begins to widen, the stench of death clogs his throat and nasal passages. The light up ahead of them grows steadily stronger and Jayne switches off the Maglite then he wraps an arm around Simon and pulls him closer. The strong smell of perspiration should be repulsive, but that's far from the case. Instead it represents life as opposed to death and Simon breathes in deeply.

"When we get in there you don't take your eyes off me, _dong ma_?" murmurs Jayne. "I'll signal you which way to go."

Simon nods, unwilling to speak in case his trembling voice gives away just how quickly that sudden upsurge of bravado is dissipating. Staring at the maw-like opening in front of them--rocks jagged like teeth--he raises his thumb.

Jayne returns the gesture then steps forward into the brightly lit floor of the pit, leaving Simon convinced that the mercenary is about to be ripped to shreds in front of his eyes. When that doesn't happen he wipes the cold sweat away from his forehead and follows, his toes near enough clipping the heels of the big man's boots.

Are Reavers' senses heightened? Simon wonders as they sneak through into the open hall, slipping around the pillars of rock and huge steel props which support the construction of the mine. At first he prays that the creatures are nothing more than psychotic humans, that way he and Jayne stand a chance of escaping them, but the moment he sees the hellish scenario appearing in front of him he stops wishing for proof of their humanity.

Bodies of miners are strung up from the joists like carcasses in an abattoir and the Reavers, who are busy flaying them, are so practiced at their craft that the skin comes away complete. The rock floor runs red with blood and Simon's revulsion grows a thousand-fold when he catches the horror stricken gaze of one of the victims and knows that the man is not yet dead. He was told to keep his eyes fixed on Jayne and now he understands why. He would if he could, but somehow he's drawn to the scene like a moth to a flame, barely able to stop himself from shuffling forward into oblivion.

This must be the upper level of the structure. The elevator is cranking slowly and as each car reaches the bottom the doors fly open and creatures spill out, bringing with them more corpses and loot. Thinking about it, Simon realises that this mine lies midway between the only two settlements on this small planetoid, Gainsborough and Hartford. The Reavers must be using the pit as their base while they pillage both towns. Jayne couldn't have picked a worse place to hide -- not that he had any way of knowing this at the time.

From this central floor there are other elevators, used to carry the miners down to the active shafts. Mechanised shovels are positioned all around the pit to bring the ore back up to the surface, but none of this machinery is working at present. If it were then things would be so much simpler; there'd be no risk of being heard with all the engine noise and drilling. Simon's so engrossed in the scene that he almost misses Jayne's hand signals and, at the last minute, veers suddenly into a fissure in the rock face, sighing with relief when he sees the stacked up boxes of goods that half-fill the cave. The workers must have had to spend long stretches of time down in this goddamned place. It's tragic to think they went through hell only to end up resembling annotated diagrams from medical textbooks.

"We need to find some way of hauling this stuff away from here," says Jayne as he stockpiles batteries and emergency lanterns. "Won't last long on what we can fit in our pockets."

Simon hunts around and, just when he's beginning to run out of hope, he discovers a heap of dusty, tarpaulin bags. They're too big to make carrying easy, but at least they have strong handles.

"Will these do?" he asks, dumping two of the sacks at the big man's feet.

"Gorram perfect," comes the answer and both men quickly begin to fill them with the purloined goods.

All of a sudden the noise levels grow louder and when they peer out of the storage cave things are not looking as shiny as they did a few minutes ago. A lone Reaver has survived the blast from the grenade and, half-dead, it emerges from the small passageway, slithering on its belly, remnants of legs dragging behind it in a bloody mess.

"_Tamade_," Jayne snarls under his breath. "If'n the bastard would've crawled a mite quicker I'd've dealt with him easy."

Simon looks around the pit floor in desperation. If the Reaver is still able to communicate with the others then they're humped. They have to find a safe place to escape to, but the question is where.

Jayne uses a set of pocket binoculars to check the walls carefully. "That way," he murmurs, pointing northeast. "There's an opening in the rock just over there. See it?"

Simon takes the glasses and aims them in the direction Jayne has indicated. It's small, could be too small for them to get through, but a quick scan of the area shows him that it's their only hope. Handing the binoculars back to Jayne he nods his agreement.

The biggest problem is that there's nothing much to hide behind on their way around. If they reach there without being seen then the gods are on their side. If they can do so _and_ get themselves and the bags through that gap then it'll be nothing short of a miracle.

"We gotta be quick and quiet," whispers Jayne redundantly. "Best we go now while they're yapping with Johnny No Legs over there."

Sneaking undetected around the edge of the pit floor, Simon decides that someone indeed must be watching over them and when the mercenary pushes him unceremoniously through the niche he begins to breathe again.

"Does it go anywhere?" Jayne shoves the bags inside, contents spilling out and making a soft, clattering sound which has him peering around warily.

"Seems to," says Simon. At very least, this cave is far bigger than their previous bolt hole.

It's a tight squeeze for Jayne and Simon reckons the man will have lost a few layers of skin just getting through the crevice, but now that they're both inside they can relax just a little. They have food, light and they're safe -- although safe may well be an exaggeration, seeing as they're a few feet away from a cavern full of cannibals.

"_Wo de ma_," murmurs Jayne. "I ain't ashamed to admit that this is the gorram creepiest situation I been in for a long time. There's a million of them things out there."

The mercenary is breathing fast and Simon hopes that this is just a result of adrenaline rather than some form of clinical shock. They'll have to find themselves a safer place to lay up soon so he can do more than just a cursory visual examination.

Jayne prowls the cave, searching every face with the small penlight to check for exits. "I know there's a way out of here," he says, his voice full of frustration. "I can hear water running."

Simon listens intently and indeed there is an echoing sound coming from somewhere to his right. Wetting his finger with spit he stretches his hand outwards and can feel a distinct draft of air coming up at him from ground level then keeping his flashlight shrouded he directs the beam downwards.

"_Aiya_!" The word comes out a little too loudly for comfort as he drops down on hands and knees to examine the narrow cleft in the rock. Shining a light through the gap all he can see is a bottomless drop below him.

Jayne shoves him out of the way and peers into the hole. "_Gao guhn_! We can climb down here easy," he says, slapping Simon on the back in an unusual display of friendly appreciation. "You done good for a mamma's boy from the Core."

Simon hasn't got the energy or the inclination to snap back a retort. "Climb down?" he questions, aiming the Maglite into the pitch black abyss.

"Look inwards a ways." Jayne shines the beam of the flashlight inside the cleft and Simon can see the way the rock wall is ridged, almost forming a staircase. This would be great news except that he can still see nothing below them except the glint of a reflection.

"What about the bags?" he asks, putting off the inevitable because he can't bear the idea of either of them having to make that climb into the unknown.

"I picked up some rope from the store room," says Jayne. "Figured it may come in handy."

The Reaver noises grow louder and closer and this helps to make up Simon's mind. "Okay," he says with renewed gumption.

"I'll go first," says the mercenary, tying a length of rope onto each bag as if he doesn't trust Simon's ability to make knots. "You lower the stuff down to me and then follow."

"You need a safety line." Simon's insistent but Jayne shakes his head in a definite no.

"We ain't got time to figure out a way of securing it," he says. "It's not a difficult climb. Hardly more'n walking down a few steps."

Simon glares stubbornly at him. "We'll tie the rope around our waists. I'll feed it down and at least then if you slip I may be able to break your fall."

Jayne glares back but complies, grumbling all the while about what a rutting waste of time it is. "Ready," he says, kneeling and then edging his way through the gap. "It ain't _too_ tight," he adds and the quiet commentary goes part way towards easing Simon's nerves. "The first footholds are easy enough to reach."

Simon takes up the slack on the rope and feeds it through slowly.

"Gotta watch out," Jayne calls. "There's some kind of slimy stuff on the walls making it gorram slip-"

The rope shoots through Simon's fingers, burning the skin away and he find himself slammed against the cave wall, winded slightly but still managing to slow Jayne's fall. There's a splash and then a yelp and Simon fears the worst until he hears whispered curses.

"_Wo kao_!"

"Jayne, are you okay?"

"Shiny," comes a voice that sounds a little shocky. "Apart from having wet my pants."

Simon can't resist. "From urine or water?" he asks.

"Most likely some of both." There's real amusement in Jayne's voice. "Would've been completely in the drink if it hadn't been for you though."

"You can thank me by getting me out of here," says Simon as he begins to lower the first bag down.

"Got it."

The second sack slips slightly, ripping more skin away from Simon's palms and it's beginning to hurt like a bitch. In fact, he's not entirely sure that taking Jayne's weight didn't result in him fracturing a finger or two. Climbing down this wall will be near to impossible.

"Come on then," calls Jayne. "Your turn now."

With no safety line to support him and two injured hands to boot, Simon is certain that this is going to end badly. Easing himself through the cleft, he feels for the first foothold, relieved that Jayne has a lantern lit and is watching his every move with both arms raised ready to catch him. The bag that's slung over his shoulder gets in his way, the wall is as slippery and as cold as ice and his hands are in such agony that he's almost on the point of screaming out in pain.

"You can do it." Jayne's voice is full of encouragement. "Move your foot a little over to the right. That's it. Now down a step."

Simon has never experienced such relief in his life as he does when arms fold around him.

"Don't move just yet lessen you want a cold bath," warns the mercenary.

Looking around him Simon can see that they're perched on a small outcrop of rock in the middle of a pool.

"If you step on to that ledge to your left you can jump over to dry land," says Jayne. "There ain't that much of it, but it's enough."

Trying not to think about the water surrounding him or the pain in his hands, Simon follows Jayne's instructions to the letter and lands on the smooth plane of rock at the water's edge.

"Shift your pretty behind so's I can get safe too," says Jayne.

Moving back a couple of steps until he's resting against the rock wall Simon watches Jayne make the jump. The brightness of the lantern means that he can see clearly for the first time since they've been in hiding and it's obvious from the mercenary's unusually tentative movements that he's in some pain.

Simon attempts and fails to ball his hands into fists. Both of them are injured and exhausted--all they're doing is burying themselves deeper and deeper inside this labyrinth--and suddenly he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders as the adrenaline in his system diminishes.

The mercenary squats next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It ain't that bad, Simon," he says, using his first name for a change. "We got food and bedding. We got enough light to last us. There's clean water for drinking and washing. There's even a cave back there you can use for a john."

Simon snorts with laughter. So Jayne's noticed that he finds it difficult to urinate in front of other people. _Tianna_! He'll have no secrets left soon. He's not sure if his attack of depression is lifting or intensifying.

Jayne leans over and rummages inside the bags. "Happy eating," he says, waving these foil pouches at Simon then snapping them, ripping the tops off and handing one over along with a small, plastic spork. "This'll make you feel better."

"What?" Simon's confused, but he takes the packet automatically.

"Emergency rations," explains Jayne. "Instant hot food." He spoons some of it into his mouth. "Tastes great."

Simon has zero trust in this statement because Jayne doesn't have what he'd describe as a refined palate, but he follows suit and, to be honest, the meal is as good as anything that gets served up on board Serenity. The warmth leaking from the pack also provides comfort to his aching hands.

After the meal is done and the wrappers disposed of in the waste area, Simon decides that he's focused enough to give Jayne a check up. Opening his bag he takes out the first aid kit and sifts through the contents whilst the mercenary levels a look of resignation in his direction.

"I reckon that means time for my medical," Jayne says morosely, "but let me get some of this gorram Reaver blood off first so's you can see what's what."

Before Simon can voice an objection, Jayne has stripped off to his shorts and is diving into the pool of water. By the time he surfaces and starts scrubbing himself down, however, Simon's ready with a flurry of accusations.

"_Shi ni feng_?" he snaps more vehemently than he means to, embarrassed by Jayne's near-nakedness. "That water may be poisoned from ore and at very least it's probably cold enough to put you into shock."

"Don't I know it, Doc." Jayne clambers out onto the rocky ledge, shivering profusely. "Now pass me one of them blankets from outta that sack 'fore I catch my rutting death."

Simon fumbles around inside the bag then throws one of the rough woolen blankets to his companion, watching as Jayne bundles up inside it. "You were an idiot to do that," he says.

"Yep," Jayne sounds unusually sheepish, "but that Reaver stink was getting to me." Once dry, the mercenary pulls on his clothes and leans back against the cave wall, resting his head against a balled up wad of damp blanket. "I feel a mighty sight better for a wash."

Shifting a little so that he's facing his patient, Simon examines the man. At least now Jayne's clean it's easier to see the damage. He's battered exactly the way he said, but thankfully, or maybe miraculously, there's no sign of any serious injury.

"Some of these bites are already becoming infected," Simon says, wincing as he attempts to opens up a pack of antiseptic cloths with fingers that are turning blacker and bluer by the minute. "But I've got plenty of antibiotics here so that shouldn't be a problem."

"Lessen I turn Reaver," says Jayne morosely.

"That's not going to happen." Simons spits out the words with determination, but wishes he was more certain of his facts. If Jayne _does_ becomes one of them…

"You gotta promise to shoot me," says the mercenary earnestly. "I ain't never had an ambition to eat folk and I don't wanna end my days doing so."

"Stop being morbid." Simon frowns as he tries and fails to undo the safety cap on the bottle of pills.

Jayne takes the vial of tablets from him and opens it with ease. "How many?" he asks.

"Two for now," says Simon, watching as Jayne dry swallows the pills and replaces the lid.

Jayne shoves the bottle into a pocket then takes hold of Simon's wrists, examining both hands closely. "What's up with you, Doc?"

"Burns from the rope and I've broken a knuckle by the look of things." There's no point in lying. That won't help either of them.

"Can I do anything?"

Simon's dubious. "Well, you could try and tape up the finger," he says tentatively.

Jayne is way more gentle than Simon expects, carefully wrapping sticking plaster around the middle and index fingers of his right hand and then winding crepe bandage tightly around the damaged joint. After that he rubs antiseptic cream into the burns. "Shall I wrap them?" he asks, but Simon shakes his head.

"I need them free," he replies. "We have to climb out at some point."

"You should've said something before."

Jayne sounds fretful and this is a brand new facet of the man, a side of him that is completely unfamiliar to Simon. "We had to get down here," he says. "What could you have done differently if you'd have known?"

They lean back against the wall, hunching their knees up simultaneously and the synchronicity of movement makes them both laugh and goes part way to relieving some of the tension.

"Can you pass me another of them blankets?" says Jayne. "These rocks are getting mighty uncomfortable."

Privately, Simon thinks that this request has more to do with warmth rather than comfort. Jayne's probably got himself chilled to the bone by going for a swim in that ice cold pool, still he says nothing because he can understand the need to remove that coating of gore. Reaver blood seems alien somehow.

After passing Jayne the blanket, Simon crouches down to examine the contents of the equipment sacks. One contains lanterns, batteries, glow sticks and sleeping bags while the other reveals two full boxes of emergency rations and drink pouches -- all they need to stay alive for the time being. There are also several bars of what turns out to be foil-wrapped chocolate and it's amazing how something so simple can lift a person's spirits. As Simon splits a tablet in two and passes half to his companion, he smiles for the first time since they've been here.

"Told you we'd be okay," says Jayne. "And it ain't as if Reavers ever hang around one place for long."

The mercenary grins happily as he munches on the strip of chocolate and instinctively inching closer to the man, Simon takes heart from this piece of propaganda. Everybody needs something to believe in.


	3. Chapter 3

The worst thing about being stuck in this cave system is that there's no way of judging how much time has elapsed. Neither he nor Jayne are wearing wristwatches and Simon could kick himself for not putting his on before they left Serenity, but, despite this, Jayne seems determined for them to fall into a routine. He's almost animal in his instincts, although this isn't necessarily a negative thing. In fact the longer Simon spends with Jayne Cobb the more impressed he is by the man -- beneath that sullen exterior lurks a person who is far more sensitive than he wants anyone to know.

There are, however, things that Jayne isn't the least bit sensitive about. Several times since they've been stuck in the cave the man has undressed and dived into the water, working off some of that excess energy by doing a speedy set of lengths across the underground pool before jumping onto land and scrubbing himself dry. Simon would love to get clean, but he lacks the confidence to strip down to his underwear so while the mercenary is, once again, busy duck diving into the depths he keeps his mind occupied, analysing where the water could originate from. The rushing sound is a steady drone in his ears and so it can't just be ground seepage that keeps the pool fed at such a constant level.

Simon is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice anything's wrong until it becomes apparent that Jayne is well overdue in coming up for air. When it finally dawns on him that the big man has been gone for way too long, he gets to his feet and peers into the inky water, terrified by its stillness. There's neither a ripple nor an air bubble marring the glassy surface. _Tianna_!

Toeing off his shoes he stands on the very edge, peering into the blackness below him. Where should he dive in? Are there submerged rocks that could render him unconscious? As more time passes and panic turns to hysteria he undresses then sits on the ledge, dipping his legs into the freezing water before pushing off into the pool.

"_Wo kao_!" he gasps. He was right; the water _is_ cold enough to kill. Too long immersed in this and he'll suffer from hypothermia for certain. Senses on alert, he can feel his heart rate slowing and is about to dive under when a body slithers past, frightening the hell out of him as it surfaces with a splash.

"'Bout time. Reckoned you were never gonna get around to taking a bath."

Jayne's words irk Simon as much as usual, but his instinct to help overrides everything else. "What happened? I thought you were dead," he says, helping the man out of the pool and then pushing himself up onto the rocky ledge.

"I got turned about and ended up in this other cave. Caught my breath and figured out how to get back here." Jayne sinks down to the ground, rubbing his legs to try and get the circulation going.

Simon wraps blankets around the mercenary and checks his pulse. The shivering is a good sign. It means that he's not suffering from severe hypothermia. "Dry off and then get into your sleeping bag," he says. "I'll fetch you some food."

"'Kay, Doc," replies Jayne in a subdued voice.

Simon senses that the big man is shaken up from his impromptu underwater expedition and however furious he is with him for being so foolish, he decides that yelling will do no good at all. After all, what does it matter now that Jayne is safely back.

Having prepared the ration packs, Simon quickly pulls a blanket around him to cover his nakedness. Towelling the water from his skin in rough strokes he climbs into his own sleeping bag and huddles close to the mercenary who's looking better by the second. The man really _does_ have the constitution of an ox; Simon was only in that water for a couple of minutes and he's already suffering from minor after effects.

"How much longer do you think the Reavers will be here?" he asks as he finishes his meal and folds the packet into a neat square, trying not to listen to faint grunting sounds which echo from the cavern above them.

"Couldn't tell you." Jayne finishes his pouch of water and throws it into the far corner. "Itching to get back to your li'l mechanic, are you?"

"I'm more worried about River." Simon stares at the ceiling of the cave which is speckled with areas of luminous chemicals. He knows Jayne is just fishing for gossip, but, frankly, he doesn't understand why everyone's so interested in his love life. It'd be different if there was something to talk about.

"You ever gonna put Kaylee outta her misery?" says the mercenary quietly and very much out of the blue.

Startled, Simon looks up, his skin, which _had_ returned to normal, now pimpling into gooseflesh once again. "What do you mean?" he says, almost daring to catch Jayne's eye then looking away at the last second.

"Been thinking for a while that girls are not so much your type."

Simon swallows nervously. He's never talked about his sexuality to anyone and Jayne's words both frighten and embarrass him. He's no virgin; he's acted on his impulses many times when it's been safe, but has never actually _spoken_ about being sly -- not even to his lovers.

"It ain't fair to keep on encouraging her the way you do."

"Encouraging?" Simon develops an ounce of bravery and meets Jayne's steadfast gaze. "I've never said anything to her that might, well, possibly imply that I'm interested in pursuing any kind of relationship beyond friendship."

Jayne roars with laughter then covers his mouth in that childlike way of his. "It's what you _don't_ say that's the problem, Doc and you can take that stick out of your _pigu_ right now 'cause I ain't judging you. I ain't in a position to do so."

The conversation dies and it isn't until many hours later, when the mercenary is asleep and snoring away gently next to him that Simon reflects on the odd choice of words. Was Jayne trying to tell him something or is he just reading too much into it? The most likely explanation is that the man was merely using his own expansive hetero sex life as a comparison, but, then again, maybe there's more to it. Simon's never seen any concrete evidence that would point to Jayne indulging in sly encounters and, yet, the more he thinks about it there are odd moments he can pick out -- times when Jayne has paid out of character compliments to the male members of the crew in backhand fashion. He tries hard to remember exactly what happened during the celebrations in that Mudder bar on Higgins' Moon. He was very drunk at the time, but has a vague feeling that Jayne took both a woman and a man upstairs to bed with him for the night.

Thinking about this isn't helping Simon sleep. On the contrary, he becomes overly aware of how close the mercenary is to him: of that naked chest peeking through the open zipper of the sleeping bag, dark hair covering tanned skin in a fur so dense it's almost animal.

Turning the lantern off in hope that it'll help settle him, Simon nestles his head against the rough material, trying not to imagine that it's a warm, hairy body he's using as a pillow. He mightn't be able to see Jayne any longer, but he can _feel_ him and waits expectantly for every puff of breath to waft against his skin. Unable to switch off, his body reacts urgently: cock filling to a rigid stand, pre-come leaking out and wetting his underwear. Nothing could ever be as awkward or as uncomfortable as this moment.

*

Simon wakes in the foulest of moods and the sight of Jayne coming back from the 'bathroom' then having a strip down wash in the pool does nothing to improve his temper.

"Don't expect me to treat you if you get sick," he snaps as he dresses within the safe confines of his sleeping bag then roots around inside one of the tarpaulin sacks to see if there are any bars of chocolate still hiding in the corners. "It isn't a myth that getting chilled lowers your resistance to illness."

"What's got you so tetchy this morning?" asks Jayne, looking at him curiously.

Simon frowns. "It may well be the middle of the night for all you know and I'm not _tetchy_; I'm just sick of us sitting here and doing nothing to get out."

"Sure sound tetchy to me." Jayne replaces the batteries in a failing lantern. "And if this is about you being sly then-"

However much Simon would like to know whether he's right about the big man, the last thing he wants is another conversation revolving around his own sexuality. "Will you _please_ keep your big mouth shut for once," he interjects angrily. "The reason I'm not in the best of moods is that I've noticed we only have two ration packs left and I don't like the idea of starving to death down here with you as my only companion."

He jumps to his feet the exact moment that Jayne steps forward and they slam forcefully into each other. Simon, being the lighter of the two, stumbles backwards and Jayne catches hold of him, dragging him tightly against his body.

After the sleepless night he's endured, this close contact is too much for Simon to bear. "Just because I'm sly doesn't mean you can put your filthy hands all over me and use me as relief," he retorts viciously.

Jayne lets go and backs away, a wary look in his eye which slowly but surely turns to anger. "Was trying to stop you from taking a dip in the drink," he says. "'Though next time maybe I'll just leave you be."

By the time Simon has looked up from examining the crevices in the ground he sees that Jayne has made the jump to that outcrop of rock and is about to climb the slippery cave wall.

"Jayne!" he calls as loudly as he dares. "Don't be an idiot."

Jayne looks back at him, an indecipherable expression on his face. "You said we needed supplies," he says as he ascends the rock face at dangerous pace whilst Simon is left standing impotently on the ledge, kicking himself for being such a jerk.

Watching Jayne disappear through that gap turns out to be one of the worst experiences of Simon's life. He stares at the hole for what seems like hours then looks around helplessly at the dark expanse of cave walls. Once he realises how truly alone he is, childish tears well up and he does what all pathetic little crybabies do in times of crisis and runs away to hide in his bed.

Sleeping bag wrapped tightly around his face, Simon rescinds his agnosticism and begs God to _please_ make everything right, then, as time passes, his mood alters to one of anger and self-recrimination. If only he hadn't ever given in to his sexual urges. If only he and River had never set foot on Serenity. If only Jayne hadn't been so curious about him.

He's certain now the sounds from above are getting louder, but then maybe that's his imagination working on overdrive. _Wo kao!_ Scrabbling noises terrify him still further and he huddles inside his sleeping bag, only emerging when he hears a familiar voice.

"Doc, we gotta get outta here quick."

Crawling out of his nest, Simon looks up at the gore-spattered form looming over him. It's almost the same as that time in the med vault except that now there's no arrogant grin on the mercenary's face, just plain unadulterated terror. There's a deep bite in the man's right forearm, from which blood is flowing freely and he's holding himself awkwardly, a sign that he's suffered injury elsewhere.

"Almost made it back safe," Jayne groans as he kneels and tips out the contents of the sack. Cutting out a rectangle of tarpaulin with his knife, he wraps up his rifle and ammunition inside the material and seals it with tape. "Then I dropped a gorram box, lost my pistol and the _hundan_ followed me back into the cave. I just about managed to get away, but they're close on my tail."

"Oh god!" Simon hears shuffling noises coming from all around him.

"Grab some of them glow sticks then follow me into the water," orders Jayne. "Keep with me all the way and I'll try to find that other cave. It's the only chance we got."

Simon nods as he shoves a bundle of the chemical powered lights into the tight waistband of his pants and when Jayne dives into the pool he does the same, panicking as the chill hits him and making him lose that whole chestful of air. Opening his eyes he looks around wildly, seeing nothing but darkness, but then something grips his arm tightly and drags him, flailing helplessly, through the water.

He's read that drowning can be a blissful experience when you give in to it, but the moment the pain becomes too much and he's about to breathe in, he's released upwards into a dank space and gasps in mouthfuls of dank air instead. There's a snapping sound and as the area around him is bathed in hideous green light Simon's claustrophobia threatens to go on the rampage when he realises that the 'cave' Jayne described is little more than a nook, just a couple of feet high.

"I can't… I can't… I can't…" he repeats and, trembling like a leaf from freezing cold and abject terror, he treads water and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I have to go back."

"There's nowhere to go back to."

Arms reach for him and they might be as cold and wet as he is, but they're also solid with muscle and Simon succumbs to the comfort with a small whimper of pleasure.

"We'll be okay. I'll take care of things."

Arms dropping limply into the icy water Simon gazes dumbly up at Jayne. He never imagined that the idea of euthanasia could fill him with so much relief. Clinging tightly to the big man he instinctively moves closer and their mouths meet in this slow, somber kiss that both soothes and unexpectedly arouses him. This should repulse Simon; everything _about_ Jayne should repulse him, but it doesn't. Unwashed and unshaven they bury themselves in each other and it's such amnesic pleasure that Simon finds himself hoping that Jayne will kill him now so that the moment never ends.

Once they finally stop kissing, Simon stares bewildered at the mercenary, wondering how he's been denying his attraction for so long. Jayne is a prime example of his physical type, but that doesn't stop it being the epitome of ridiculous to act on his urges at a moment like this.

"Not taking advantage," says Jayne, stumbling over the words as a bout of shivering takes him over. "Been _shuang xing_ 'most as long as I can remember."

"I know," says Simon and he does -- he'd put two and two together during that long, sleepless night. It was only his unwillingness to accept things that made him so foul-tempered the next day.

They kiss again and this time Simon is less shell-shocked and more able to enjoy the feel of Jayne's mouth: bruising lips, strong tongue, a straggly beard that rubs against his own bristled skin. They may be about to die down here, but at least he can go happily, knowing that there's one person in the verse with an understanding of whom he truly is.

"Reckon there may be a way out of here," says Jayne, his lips still grazing Simon's. "I ain't positive, but there's a chance."

"Tell me," says Simon as he snaps another glow stick and places it on a narrow ledge of rock. He wants to live. _Wo de ma_, he finally has a reason for living that isn't based on love for his sister or a desire for revenge. As his hands slither down Jayne's arms he hears a disguised gasp of pain as he touches the wetness of the gouged out flesh. He'll tend to Jayne's wounds as soon as they're away from this submerged sepulcher.

"There's a shaft just to the right of us. Don't know where it goes. All I _do_ know is that there's water running down and it's gonna be a bitch of a job to get up there."

It makes sense, thinks Simon. He knew there had to be something feeding this subterranean lake.

"I'll check it out. If it ain't no good we can always go back," continues Jayne and he's readying himself to make the dive when Simon clamps hands down onto his shoulders and silences the mercenary with another kiss.

"We both go," he insists. Whether it's to explore the tunnel or go back to the cave and hope that the Reavers have gone he doesn't much care, but he's not being left alone again. "Think how much trouble you caused when you went off half-cocked last time."

"Y'ain't wrong there." Jayne grins, teeth green and ghoulish in the sickly, chemical light. "So what's it to be, Doc, cave or tunnel?"

'Doc' sounds wrong since their relationship has veered off onto a strange new course, but Simon has a feeling that he'll still get called that most of the time. "Tunnel," he says through chattering teeth. At least that way they can drown together and find out whether it is indeed a blissful way out of this world.

"Ain't sure if this is gonna work." Jayne looks dubious.

"I know," replies Simon. "But at least we'll have tried."

Jayne leaves his tarp-wrapped rifle on the ledge with a regretful sigh then fumbling around inside Simon's pants, he takes a few of the glow sticks, accidentally groping cock in the process.

"There'll be time enough for that later," says Simon with a shivery grin.

"You bet your pretty white butt there will be." The mercenary winks. "Now listen up. Take three or four deep breaths and then dive down. I'll lead you to the tunnel entrance and after then you get to be trailblazer. That way I can give you a shove along if you need it."

Going underwater is not as much of a shock this time and privately Simon worries that this might signify he's entering stage two of hypothermia. However, on the plus side, at least he's able to hold his breath.

The tunnel is extremely narrow and as Simon snaps another light stick and pushes upwards, he knows now that the only reason he's leading the way is because Jayne isn't certain whether his bigger torso will fit through the constrictive gap. The flow of water makes climbing almost impossible and if the shaft were set at a steeper angle then he couldn't manage it, but with Jayne's assistance he perseveres and drags himself onward through the hole. His lungs are burning and the glow light held in his teeth only succeeds in blinding him a little, but still he presses on, knowing that if he fails then Jayne dies too.

'Come on,' he tells himself as his body pleads with him to give in to the cold and his broken fingers demand surrender, then all of a sudden the tunnel widens and Simon finds that he's no longer fighting that downward gush of water. Kicking out hard with both legs he pushes upward… upward… upward until everything becomes black and quiet. So dark. So still. So peaceful.


	4. Chapter 4

Simon wakes with a lead weight on his chest, suffering from the worst pain he's experienced in a long while. Lurching to one side he narrowly misses Jayne as he spews mouthfuls of water and reconstituted Soya bean stew into a puddle on the rock. Trying and failing to sit up, he spits out the remnants of regurgitated stomach contents and gingerly presses a palm against his aching rib cage.

"Reckon that sound I heard when I was trying to bring you back could've been some bones cracking," says Jayne as he climbs off Simon and lays down next to him, sweeping the damp hair out of his eyes with a finger. "Thought I'd lost you, Doc."

"I'm pretty certain you did." Simon looks around at their newest place of occupancy. It's a large cave with patches of luminous chemicals and a pool of black water. Have they somehow taken a step back inside the labyrinth?

"I know what you're thinking but you're wrong." Jayne has this broad grin on his face -- a little boy who has a secret he can't wait to tell. "There's a way out of this one and, as far as I can tell, there ain't no sign of gorram Reavers neither."

Simon struggles to sit up and stares at the cave walls which are illuminated by green light. There's no need for the cigar lighter; he can feel the blast of cold air coming from that dark hole in the rock face. "Have you checked it out?" he asks anxiously.

Jayne shrugs. "Trying to get you breathing was my number one priority."

Simon disguises his smile by kneeling over the pool and washing away the remains of vomit from his face. Leaning over further, he rids himself of the taste by sipping mouthfuls of water from his cupped hands, then gargling and spitting.

"We're on to the last but one stick," says Jayne, "so I reckon we'd better see where that passage takes us as soon as possible -- if'n you're up to it that is."

"Believe me, I'm up for it," says Simon. He's had his fill of caves and the adrenaline will see to it that he keeps going.

The passageway is both wide and high, but to counter that, it turns out to be depressingly long and winding. They travel in silence, footsteps echoing off the rock walls, both of them searching for that faint circle ahead that signifies freedom. With no supplies left, Simon hopes desperately that they're going to find some literal daylight at the end of this tunnel. He's forgotten what it feels like to see clearly: to feel warmth permeating his skin.

"How long do you think we've been in here?" he asks as he follows the mercenary along the mine shaft, clutching at his aching rib cage. As long as he breathes in shallow bursts the pain isn't _too_ bad.

"Ain't got a clue." Jayne trips slightly and presses his hand against the cave wall to stop himself from falling. "Hope it ain't long enough for the ship to have flown off without us."

Simon's logical brain knows that even if Serenity and her occupants are okay then there's no way Mal will have sat around on a Reaver-infested planet waiting for two crew members who are, more than likely, dead, but he's not going to say any of this to Jayne. Hope is everything. It's the one thing that's kept him going for the last few years.

The luminance of moonlight pooling onto the tunnel floor catches him by surprise. For some reason, he'd assumed that they would emerge into blazing rays of sunshine.

"Stay back," hisses Jayne. "Let me check if it's clear."

As he watches the mercenary prowl off into the darkness Simon wonders if this is just a nightmare. Maybe he'll wake up safe and warm in his bunk on Serenity and find that he's been locked inside one of those strange everlasting dreams he occasionally suffers from. This _should_ be the best case scenario, but when Jayne signals him forward, Simon's filled with an intense desire for all of this to be real, however horrifying the experience has been.

Edging out into the night, he breathes fresh air for the first time in an age and crouches down next to Jayne, who's hiding behind some rocks.

"We're about three clicks away from the Reaver landing site," murmurs the mercenary. "And the better than good news is that they're loading up the ships."

Simon watches the creatures swarm like tiny insects in the light and as he recalls the swinging bodies of those half-dead miners, he wishes he could crush them under his feet like ants. "Why do they do it?" he wonders in a monotone voice.

"Just to live. Same as everyone, I reckon," replies Jayne matter-of-factly, his face set into a grim mask.

This philosophical side comes as yet another surprise. The man is more stoical and certainly more astute than anyone has ever given him credit for. Sensitive, thoughtful, intuitive: none of these are words Simon formerly associated with the hired gun. "How long have you known I was _tongzhi_?" he asks, overcome by a sudden wave of curiosity.

"Since the day you joined the ship," replies Jayne without taking his eyes off the distant camp. "Takes one to know one, eh?" he adds with a sudden grin.

Simon doesn't respond. The Reaver noises carried on a chill night wind have made him all too aware of how much danger they're still in. "Even if they don't find us we could die of exposure out here," he muses out loud.

"Ain't dying 'fore I have a chance to show you exactly how sly I am." Jayne shifts sideways, turning his head and leaning closer until mouth presses against mouth and, despite _everything_, the kiss is perfect. As Jayne's tongue touches his, Simon's whole body reacts to the sensation, nipples peaking and cock thickening as absolute proof of how very much he wants this man.

They have no weapons left to defend themselves with, no rations to eat and no blankets to keep them warm. With an army of cannibals just a few kilometers away from them and hope of being rescued all but gone, the last thing they should be doing is gulping down hungry mouthfuls of tongue whilst running their hands under wet clothing and over lacerated bodies and broken bones. None of that matters though because Simon needs this more than he's ever needed anything in his whole life. Kneeling up, his lips pressed tightly against Jayne's, he fights to unfasten the fly of those cargo pants then takes hold of the man's cock, groaning with pleasure as Jayne mirrors his actions.

"Weren't planning on doing you like this," mutters Jayne in between sighs of pleasure and slips of tongue against tongue.

"Can't wait any longer." Simon grins then spits into his hand and runs his fingers over Jayne's _ji ba_, pulling hard then teasing gently until every part of Jayne becomes putty except for that hard rod of a cock which jerks insistently against Simon's skin.

Jayne's hand is calloused and huge, so very different to how Simon's own palm feels when he's masturbating and lost in fantasy. He humps that fist, kissing Jayne in time with the thrusts of his hips, able to ignore every aching body part except for his balls which are throbbing deliciously and drawing up ready for climax. Closing the gap between them, Jayne deepens the kisses and as his slick cockhead makes contact with Simon's own knob, every muscle goes into spasm and there's a sudden expulsion of hot, wet, bright-white pleasure that has his thighs buckling with delight. But Jayne's next words bring him back down from that mind-melting orgasm with a vicious thud.

"Reckon I was right," says the mercenary as he wipes away some of the semen with a handful of coarse grass he's grabbed from the side of a rock. "Reckon you must've caught a touch of that crazy from your sister. That was a dumbass thing to do."

He sounds exactly like the bitter man that Simon has known and disliked for years. "Then I won't repeat it," he replies, trying not to sulk as he stretches out on a plinth of surface rock that's uncomfortably hard on his sore ribs.

"No you won't," says Jayne, his gaze fixed on the Reaver camp below them.

Simon's had enough and is preparing to complain lengthily about Jayne's demeanor when the mercenary adds a few quiet words to the end of his sentence.

"Gotta keep you in one piece 'til I can sex you up proper."

Bad mood instantly vapourised, Simon smiles and turns onto his side. He doesn't think there's a chance of getting any sleep lying in damp clothes on a cold stone slab, but tiredness takes over and it's not long before he begins to fade out, knowing without doubt that Jayne'll be awake all night beside him.

*

His dreams are a confusing mixture of good and bad. Twice he wakes in a state of panic, sitting up and pressing a hand against Jayne's back to convince himself that he's not been abandoned on this godforsaken planet. Jayne isn't dead. Jayne isn't a flayed corpse with entrails on display. Jayne is here, real, alive, reaching behind him to squeeze at Simon's shoulder reassuringly. Fitful sleep is better than no sleep at all and the next time Simon opens his eyes, the sun is beating down on his skin and Jayne is lying next to him with an arm around his waist.

"They've took off," the mercenary says, his eyes half-closing from exhaustion, "' bout an hour ago."

"All of them?" questions Simon.

"Reckon so." Jayne yawns deeply and covers his mouth with a palm. "It's the way they work. Pillage a place then move on to the next piece of dirt."

Filled with elation and the uncomfortable urge to have more sex, Simon wriggles away from the big man's arm and gets to his feet, sloping off behind a nearby rock to take a piss. Embarrassed by the sound of urine splashing onto the dusty ground he distracts himself by gazing at the scene of dereliction below him. The ships have gone but the landing site is littered with trashed engine parts and piles of human debris. In the distance he can see the outline of Gainsborough and wonders if anyone managed to escape the town. It's doubtful. Reavers are thorough creatures.

When Simon looks around he sees that Jayne is fast asleep and, rather than disturb the mercenary, chooses to pick his way down the trail in the direction of the abandoned camp. He's no technological expert, but is hoping that there might be some intact piece of comm equipment lying around that's recognisable even to a layman like him.

Once he arrives at the site, thoughts of sending waves go out of his head as he gets a true picture of what's been left. There's not a whole corpse to be seen, all of them have been desecrated in one way or another, and the scavengers are already circling. However repulsed he might be, Simon can't bear the thought of these poor souls' bones being picked over once again.

Ignoring the waves of pain emanating from ribs and hands, Simon heaves broken wood into a rough pyre then, fumbling in his pockets, he takes out Jayne's cigar lighter, hoping that the solid metal casing will have kept the mechanism dry. After five or six flicks Simon's convinced that the thing is useless, but finally it sparks into life and, paying little attention to the heat that's searing his thumb, Simon lets the flame lick over a piece of kindling, waiting for it to catch.

There's something inherently primal and comforting about fire and for a while Simon just squats there watching, waiting for it to reach a good hot burn. Unable to put off the moment any longer, he ignores any deep-seated revulsion and begins to throw the dry, dismembered body parts onto the pyre, certain that the tears streaming down his face are not entirely caused by the smoke alone.

"_You ni yi tai shen zhi_?" comes a voice from behind him and, startled, Simon wheels around, wondering how much time has passed him by.

It's Jayne. Of course it's Jayne. A very angry Jayne by the look of things.

"You _trying_ to tell everyone where we are?"

"The Reavers have gone." Simon glares defiantly at the mercenary, although to tell the truth he hadn't considered how dangerous this course of action could prove to be. "These people deserved some kind of funeral."

"These folks are long dead, Doc." Jayne glowers and then begins hefting the remainder of the corpses onto the fire. "It wouldn't've harmed none to wait a while longer."

Simon glances up at the scavenger birds and wishes he could become more hardened to his new way of life. As far back as he can remember all he's ever wanted to do is help people.

"'Though it don't look like you've done any damage," continues Jayne in a gentler tone of voice. "You have a sort through of what's been left, see if there's anything useful, while I finish up here."

The big man is rough around the edges, but most of the time he means well and as Simon sifts through the debris he's struck with the sudden realisation that Jayne came to that drugstore solely to rescue him. Up until the moment he'd taken it upon himself to restock the ship's dwindling pharmaceutical supplies Simon had been with the others, looting platinum reserves over the other side of town and if it hadn't been for him the mercenary could easily have got back to Serenity. It's a sobering thought and Simon glances curiously at his companion who's stoking the fire with planks of wood from broken packing crates, partially concealed by a thick, grey smokescreen.

"Found anything useful?" calls Jayne as he throws the last few bodies on the pyre then attempts to wipe away the filth from his hands on some equally filthy rags.

"Not a thing." Simon looks around him at the heaps of trash in utter disgust.

"There'll be better pickings to be had in Gainsborough," says Jayne. "Not that it matters though 'cause Mal'll be waiting for us there."

"Yep," agrees Simon, although all of the words are a lie and both of them know it.

*

It seemed to have taken them no time at all to reach the mine and yet the journey back down to the town is never-ending. With nothing to eat or drink, Simon wonders how long he can keep going and when he finally comes across a pool of water set into the rocks he rushes forward, restrained at the last second by Jayne.

"I need a drink," he gasps, fighting hard against the big man.

"Not from there you don't. Not lessen you want a dose of belly rot." Jayne points out a heap of decaying bodies at the far edge which, will, without doubt, have polluted the pond by now.

It's only Simon's medical expertise that stops him from going ahead and pouring handfuls of the spoiled water down his throat. The symptoms of this kind of disease are always ugly and not a thing you'd wish on your worst enemy.

"I been told there's types of plants that hold liquid," says Jayne thoughtfully as Simon gazes at the rancid drinking hole.

"Not in this type of terrain."

"Maybe, maybe not," says Jayne, "but you can still keep an eye out."

Simon wants to kick out at everything in frustration. This raging thirst is driving him insane and he knows Jayne is just trying to take his mind off their ever-worsening situation, but treating him like a child is only making him want to behave more like one.

"C'mon, Doc," says Jayne. "Sooner you quit moping, the sooner we get to town."

Simon refuses to _quit moping_, but he does begin to move, albeit at a slow pace, following the mercenary reluctantly down the trail whilst trying to ignore every part of his body that's screaming in agony.

*

They smell Gainsborough before they see it.

If Simon had thought the Reaver landing site was bad then he was sadly misguided. The main street of the town is ripe with decay and buzzing with insects and, dry heaving, he covers his mouth and nose with a hand.

"Don't look; just keep on walking," says Jayne grimly and Simon does as he's told, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the mercenary's back.

"Be happier if'n I had me a weapon," mutters the big man and Simon can understand why although he doubts that it's necessary. There's plainly nothing residing here but death.

After a cursory look for Serenity, the first place they visit is the saloon. Ignoring the piled up evidence of destruction, Jayne strides behind the bar and fumbles around in the gloom for sealed bottles of juice. Prizing open the caps, he hands two over and the _feel_ of that sweet liquid sliding down Simon's throat is enough to make him able to block out the world for the short time it takes to finish them.

When he looks up, Jayne has a bottle of whiskey to his lips and is gulping at it, far too desperately for Simon's comfort. He's been concerned about the man's drinking for a good few years now. "Not the best idea," he warns, his fingers curling around the glass neck.

Jayne looks at him, his expression a cross between anger and immeasurable fear, but instead of reacting fiercely the way Simon expects, he stoppers the bottle and takes one last sorrowful look at it before reaching down to the shelves for a plastic container of water.

"What do we do now?" asks Simon, relieved to see some life spark back into those blue eyes. For a moment it had looked as if Jayne was on the point of losing it completely.

"We get fed," says Jayne, swigging his water. "Then I'll start on clean up and you can set about finding us some place to stay that ain't too much of a wreck."

"Sounds logical." Simon's knows he should offer to help dispose of the dead, but he's not certain he can cope with any more rotting corpses.

"Reckon the hardest job'll be powering the place back up." Jayne flicks the main breaker switch up and down several times. "Right now the only way of getting in contact with anyone is through smoke signals."

Simon had never considered this might be a stumbling block. He's been baby-stepping his way through this nightmare from the beginning. Getting to town in one piece was his ultimate goal, but with no electricity here then, once again, they're humped.

"You'll be able to do something about the power, Doc," says Jayne and there's such belief in the man's voice that Simon's confidence is boosted. Maybe he _can_ fix things if he puts his mind to it.

"I'll try, but really it depends on what's happened to the generators," he says, wishing, for the first time ever, that his specialty wasn't the biological kind of engineering.

Jayne kicks through the remnants of a broken down door and they end up in the saloon kitchen where to his delight Simon finds rack upon rack of preserved goods. "At least we won't starve," he says, watching as Jayne removes the lid of a canned ham with the opener on his utility knife.

Taking a chunk of jellied meat from Jayne's blade, Simon wolfs down the food.

"I loved this stuff when I was a kid," says Jayne, talking with a full mouth. "Was for special occasions only, 'though I reckon today's special enough."

Simon's family had fresh meat and vegetables every day. Sometimes he's ashamed to have come from such a privileged background.

"By the look of things there's no more'n an hour of daylight left," says Jayne as he stares out of the grimy window. "We're gonna have to bed down here for the night."

Simon doesn't relish this idea at all and as they head up to the second floor, armed with flashlights and a rifle that Jayne discovered while looting the cellar, his sense of hopelessness increases. The smell of decay is far more potent up here.

Jayne peers inside then quickly slams shut the doors of four rooms, including what looks like the bathroom from the fleeting glimpse Simon is allowed.

"We can get washed up downstairs," mutters the mercenary, the queasy expression on his face telling Simon that now is not the time to argue.

At the end of the corridor is a small storage room with a camping bed set up in it.

"This'll do," says Jayne as opens a closet and finds a pile of blankets. "You take the cot. I'll be okay on the floor."

Simon's despondency grows. He wants to get clean, crawl into a king bed with Jayne and have enough sex to make this hateful new world of theirs go away for a while. Still, things are better than they were yesterday, he tells himself as he steps over bodies and follows Jayne into the public bathroom. Pissing against the porcelain of the urinal he discovers that he's no longer embarrassed about such a triviality and suddenly life seems ridiculously funny.

"You feeling okay, Doc?" asks Jayne, looking curiously at Simon who can't stop his laughter from breaking free in staccato bursts.

"Fine," he splutters.

The mercenary shrugs, shaking off his dick then fastening the fly of his pants and Simon follows suit, wondering why he's spent his whole life being such a prude. He's a medical man, trained to see people naked, and yet for twenty nine years he's been embarrassed by even a glimpse of his own nude body in the mirror. It's strange to think that his wake up call should come from being stuck alone on a razed planet with a man he used to consider the most uncouth specimen of humanity in the entire verse.

"Don't drink from the faucet. Reavers like to poison the supply," warns Jayne as Simon fills the sink. "Can use it for washing, but it's best we be careful for a while." The big man strips off and hangs his pants and shirt over the top of the door. "Reckon I'd give away Vera for some hot water and a tub," he adds as he lathers up soap and scrubs himself down, avoiding the suppurating bite mark on his forearm.

Simon follows suit, wincing as the icy water makes contact with his balls. The soap smells good, making him feel fresher than he has done for a while and the only fly in the ointment comes from having to put filthy clothes back on afterwards. Simon vows that tomorrow he'll stockpile all the things he's been missing: toothpaste, shampoo, clean underwear... lube and condoms.

Afterwards, they fetch packs of cookies and bottled water from the kitchen and then head up to the bedroom. Having had almost no rest the previous night, Jayne's asleep before he's horizontal and although the snack food is good and the foldaway bed is more comfortable than anything he's slept on for a while, Simon's still restless. Listening to the oppressive silence that, for some bizarre reason, is more intimidating than echoing drips and distant Reaver sounds, he eventually slips down onto the floor and curls up beside Jayne.


	5. Chapter 5

Simon wakes to a blaze of daylight and an empty bed. The smell of carrion-scented smoke that's wafting through the open windows tells him that Jayne is doing exactly as he promised and is busy cleaning up Gainsborough.

Dressing quickly, Simon picks up a couple of bottles of water then heads for the stairs, studiously ignoring each closed door which in his mind have plague crosses painted on them in viscous, crimson strokes.

The bar area has already been cleared of bodies and Simon is relieved at not having to pick a dainty path through to the bathroom. Things aren't so bad, he reminds himself once again. They have food, drink and toilet facilities, all of which contribute towards making Simon feel human again. Even his ribs are feeling a little better this morning, although--strapping long gone--his right index knuckle is swollen to unnaturally large proportions and impossible to bend. Three years ago Simon would have wept over this as signifying the end of his career as a surgeon. Now his former life is so lost in the past that he can barely recall it, let alone grieve for it.

Bathroom routine over, Simon opens the doors and steps out into bright sunshine. The scene on the main street is no less apocalyptic, but certainly more organised. The dead are heaped into burning piles as Jayne, wearing worker's overalls, his hands protected by thick elbow length gloves, throws body parts onto the flames as if he's stoking the fires of hell. It's an eerie sight.

A list of priorities etched into his mind, Simon walks the length of the linear town, mentally recording all the most useful stores and utilities. There's a small public library which, with no access to the Cortex, could prove very useful in helping to bring the power back online -- providing it doesn't only have shelf room for romance novels and adventure stories.

As Gainsborough peters out into nothing more than the occasional single storey shack, Simon looks out onto a different scene of devastation. At first it's hard to comprehend why the hillside is covered in mangled steel and burnt wood, but then everything begins to make ugly sense. The wind turbines, which probably provided power for the entire town, have been systematically destroyed by the Reavers. Humans are so weak they've forgotten how to exist without the basics. Remove their electricity and poison their water and they fall apart.

Simon sprawls helplessly on a bench at the side of the street, running his finger over the inscription engraved onto the plaque which reminds everyone that Mayor J. T. Griffiths kindly provided this seat for the community -- a community that has been completely eradicated in a matter of days.

He's now reached the conclusion that there's nowhere to stay _in_ Gainsborough, but maybe there's a place with its own electricity and water supply somewhere outside its boundaries. Taking a thoughtful sip of his drink, Simon suddenly brings to mind a tiny detail stored up from when they arrived. Wash had pointed out the ore mines and also mentioned a possible landing site on some farmland just north east of the town. If anywhere's likely to have an independent power source it's a farm.

With renewed energy, Simon jumps to his feet and follows the road that curls around the town and out towards the east. Even the gentle upward slope is too much for him to cope with in his current state of exhaustion and he's about to turn around and go back when he remembers the job that Jayne is doing in town. Steeling himself, he walks another half mile or so and finally, when he's beginning to think he imagined the whole thing, comes to some peeling railings and a five bar gate with an old fashioned mail box and sign that declares the place to be Love Knot Farm. Cringing at the sentimentality and also the sight of dead horses at the far end of the pasture, Simon climbs the gate and heads for the cluster of buildings, wondering what he'll find here. If only he'd brought that rifle with him.

There's only one thing more eerie than a ghost town and that's a ghost town which may not be _completely_ deserted. However as Simon approaches the farm house he can tell immediately that the Reavers have been through here with whirlwind destruction, leaving nothing alive in their path. Even the corpses of the farm cats and dogs lie decaying in the yard. One of them has a hind leg chewed off.

Spirits sinking rapidly, Simon keeps his gaze focused well away from the hideous sight. This turns out to be a stroke of good luck because it's then that he notices that the roof of the building has several solar panels set into it. _Wo cao_! If on the off chance they work and there's some comm equipment lying around that hasn't been destroyed then they could be away from this hell hole in a few days.

Pushing open the heavy pine door, Simon peers inside the farmhouse. The hallway seems intact, but flipping each of the switches in turn yields nothing but a resonant click. "Hell," he mutters, taking his flashlight out of his pocket and creeping down stone steps into the cellar in order to find the breaker box. A flick of the main switch tells him that the problem is going to be a complicated one, a fact which is which is utterly disheartening. He'd been hoping to prove his worth to Jayne by surprising the man with a brightly-lit house and a tubful of hot water.

Pushing the disappointment to the back of his mind, he explores the rest of the farmhouse, coming to a sudden halt when the stench from one of the bedrooms hits him like a wall of putridity. The urge to run and fetch Jayne is as strong as the smell wafting off the bodies, but Simon is responsible for making this a temporary home for them and therefore he's determined to go through with it.

Fetching some heavy duty plastic sacks from the kitchen he finds a roll of tape and then ascends the stairs once again, his stomach churning at the thought of having to deal with this horror. The bodies at the landing site had been desiccated from exposure to the elements but these corpses smell ripe.

Taking one step inside the bedroom Simon is overcome by nausea and has to run to the bathroom to vomit. Covering his nose and mouth with a dry washcloth he re-enters the master bedroom, swatting away the flies and staring down at the bodies of the elderly couple who are lying dead in their bed with an empty bottle of painkillers open on the nightstand. At least they weren't raped or eaten, he thinks as he winds each rotting body in sheets from the linen closet and then seals them up with plastic and thick electrical tape. Unable to think of a more dignified method of removal, Simon opens the casement windows wide and heaves the former occupants of the farmhouse down into the yard below, hurriedly adding the soiled mattress to the pile.

Latching the windows and slamming the door, Simon leaves the room to fumigate then makes his way outside to explore the rest of the farm buildings and hopefully find somewhere to keep the corpses until he can dispose of them properly.

The main barn, once probably full of farming machinery, has been thoroughly looted by the Reavers, but behind it is a smaller storage shed which has either been missed or ignored. Opening up the doors, Simon can't quite take in the amount of junk which has been horded inside here -- all manner of things from ploughs to toasters to barrels of agricultural fertilizer. The place is a veritable Aladdin's cave. Then, hidden away to one side, he sees something which makes his eyes light up. Rushing over, he shoves away the boxes that cover the ancient two person mule and wheels it forward into the yard. Unbelievably, it's still got a quarter of a tank of gas and on the third attempt at a kick start it bursts into life, coughing and spluttering and sounding rather like a consumptive old man. Simon revs up a few times then kills the motor, climbing regretfully off the vehicle. He has important work to do first before charging back down the track to town to show off his latest acquisition to Jayne.

Next to the shed is a grain barn, half-filled with sacks and a wood store that's stacked to the rafters and Simon thinks he's seen everything until he spots a small stone hut partially buried in the trees. It turns out to be a dilapidated icehouse and, peering inside, he discovers that it's devoid of contents. With its insulated walls and sealed door it'll make it as good a place as any to keep the remains of the farmer and his wife and, after dragging the wrapped bodies inside, Simon then collects the pet animal carcasses in a barrow and carts them inside to be entombed alongside their owners. It's as good a burial as he can manage for the family right now.

Dirtiest work now complete, Simon clears the rest of the house whilst trying to figure out a way to solve the water and power puzzle. A quick inspection of the roof space shows him that a lot of the wiring has been gnawed away by some form of vermin, rats probably, and this explains why electricity from the solar cells isn't getting through. There's an old hand pump in the yard which is a good indication that the farm has its own supply of water, however none of the faucets are working and when Simon inspects the rear of the farmstead he finds a boiler house with a diesel generator and what appears to be the operation panel for a borehole pump. The only problem is that there's no fuel for the generator.

Simon kicks out at the wall in disgust. He's now found two means of powering up the place and yet he can't manage to get either of them to work. Frustrated by this lack of success, he stomps back inside the farmhouse, opening a can of fruit and forking it into his mouth in hope that the sweetness may make him feel a little less bitter.

It's only when he's finished his meal and is gazing out of the window that he realises how far the sun has moved across the sky. Best thing to do now is go back to Gainsborough on the mule and round up some of the supplies they'll need for the night. He may not have a fully functional house to show off to Jayne, but at least he's found them a place to stay that's relatively clean and safe.

*

When Simon was growing up on Osiris, every luxury and new technology was his for the asking. Even on board Serenity they had constant hot water, regulated temperature and access to the Cortex. Yet after just a few days of being without life's necessities, Simon's as proud to be riding into town on that old mule as if he'd been made surgical consultant at St Lucy's.

The fires are still burning, three columns of dense smoke connecting the streets of Gainsborough to the darkening afternoon sky, and Jayne's working feverishly, collecting up waste and throwing it onto the pyres. He's still suited up in his overalls, but now has a pair of goggles on to protect his eyes from flying debris and as he wields his axe, chopping wood into useable size chunks, Simon isn't quite sure if the person he's beginning to know is still there behind the mask.

"Jayne," he yells, somewhat relieved when the man looks around and lifts a gloved hand. "Have you seen any diesel around here?" he asks.

Raising his goggles and letting them rest high on his forehead, Jayne wipes away the trails of perspiration that run down his cheeks. "There's a mechanic's shop at the end of the street," he says, taking his gloves off then unfastening his overalls to the waist and pulling them down off his shoulders. "I saw some drums of fuel back there. D'you need it for the mule?"

"No." Simon's finding it hard to talk, mesmerized by the beads of sweat trickling over Jayne's hairy chest and wetting the face of that ever-present St Christopher medal that dangles on its thick chain. "Remember that farmland Wash pointed out when we were landing?"

"Yep," answers Jayne, taking a sip of from his water bottle then handing it over.

Simon drinks deeply, for once not feeling the urge to wipe away any germs. He's kissed the man. He wants to kiss him some more, but unfortunately it never seems to be the right time. "I've cleared out the farmhouse," he says. "It has its own water supply and generators, but I can't get the damn things to work."

"I can take a look if'n you like," says Jayne, frowning when Simon shakes his head defiantly.

This is _his_ project and he doesn't want someone else coming in to fix it. "I can do it," he snaps. "I just need diesel for the generator and a book from the library to tell me how to rewire the solar cells."

"'Kay then." Break over, Jayne pulls on his overalls and gloves. "I best get on with the clean up. I ain't hardly made a start yet."

A look of nausea combined with absolute exhaustion flickers across the man's face and Simon begins to worry. "You don't have to do it all in one day," he says, slapping a hand on Jayne's shoulder in a gesture that seems more about friendship than comforting a would-be lover. Are they drifting apart before they're even together?

"You telling me disposing of these bodies is gonna get easier if I leave it a while?" Jayne shakes Simon off as he swats away a fly that has landed on his bicep.

Simon folds his arms. "No. I'm just saying you can't physically do it all today."

The mercenary glowers at him and as he lowers the goggles down over his eyes, Simon is reminded of Higgins' Moon and how much they disliked each other back then.

"Just get the supplies we need and I'll meet you back at the farm when I'm done," says the big man. "I know whereabouts it is."

He'll be _done in_ rather than done when he gets there, thinks Simon. Still, he has no sway over Jayne's actions and if his attitude keeps worsening then it's far better that they stay away from each other.

Simon's first port of call is the doctor's surgery. It's been looted, but there are some drugs left in the small med vault and a few pieces of basic equipment lying around -- mercury thermometer, stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer. This is excellent provided that Simon can remember how to use such old fashioned instruments. Having collected up the most useful items and put them in a bag, he leaves the surgery and heads unwillingly for the drugstore, just the idea of the place bringing back some rancid memories.

"Ain't cleared through there yet," yells Jayne in warning as Simon goes to push open the door of the shopping mall.

There's a definite aura of shame emanating from the big man and Simon wonders why he's taking all this so personally. "No problem," he says with a thumbs up in Jayne's direction.

He's wrong. It does turn out to be a problem when the smell hits him straight in the guts and he immediately vomits up the entire contents of his stomach. The last time he was here he'd described it as a living hell, but now it's morphed into something far worse. Body parts are still strewn across the floor and flies are pouring out in a steady stream from the heaving pile of bloated, blackened corpses. Simon understands _why_ the heap of carrion is moving--it's caused by the slow expulsion of gas and a sea of wriggling maggots--but knowing the reason doesn't make the sight any less dreadful.

In comparison the drugstore is far more pleasant. Bitterly regretting his decision to pinch all those meds last time he was here, Simon sifts through the remainder, taking painkillers and antibiotics and anything else that might be of use. His bag now filled with bandages and medicine, Simon races out, not even looking to see if there're any other stores in the mall which may contain useful goods. The whole place needs to be razed to the ground.

Hooking up the trailer that's still in the same place they abandoned it a few days earlier, Simon loads the supplies and then drives the mule up the street in the direction of the garage.

"There's a mercantile just there," calls Jayne, pointing it out as Simon goes past. "Get me some pants and shirts, will you."

Simon dismounts from the vehicle and enters the building. It's dark inside and after switching on his flashlight he sees that all the weapons and ammo are gone, but over to the right are racks of shelving piled high with clothing. Reavers prefer to make their own custom garments. Picking out several pairs of pants in a range of sizes, he adds them and some shirts and sweaters to the pile and at the last minute finds a few dozen pairs of good, thick socks. This comes as a relief because it's starting to feel as if he's suffering from trench foot.

Clothes shopping completed, he weighs up how quickly the light is fading then hurries on with the rest of his list. Jayne was right; the mechanic's shop has a several small drums of diesel stacked inside the doorway and, even with his cracked ribs kicking up a storm, Simon can't keep the smile off his face as he loads three of them onto the trailer. Next he pays a visit to the market, ignoring the produce section which is rank with spoiled goods. They'll be living off preserved stuff for a long time yet, he thinks as he stocks up with snacks, cans and drinks along with wash stuff and household items. He tries not to wonder what'll happen when the food runs out. There's no way of knowing how long they'll be stuck here.

The library is a happy distraction; Simon hasn't seen so many books for years. Running his flashlight along the shelves, he grabs a couple of classic novels on his way to the non-fiction section on engineering. There are a number of manuals which might prove useful. Of course, being printed, they're well out of date, but then so is everything in this town and the principle of electrical wiring hasn't altered much since it was invented. The one thing that's baffling Simon is how to set up communications. He's seen no sign of any recognisable device since he's been here. These people must have lived a lonely life, but then again maybe that's normal for the inhabitants of small Rim worlds.

The trailer now brimming over with supplies, Simon climbs onto the mule, keen to get back along the bumpy track before dusk fades out to night. "Are you coming?" he yells to Jayne.

The mercenary doesn't answer and continues to work like lunatic, dragging sacks full of trash out onto the street then stoking the fires. Simon can't help but feel pissed at the man. He's fully aware that Jayne has never been the most gregarious of people, but a small amount of politeness goes a long way, especially when the population of their new home-world numbers just two.

Narrowly missing the deep ridges caused by old tractor tyres, Simon avoids turning the trailer over by the skin of his teeth and heaves a sigh of relief when he makes it back to the boundaries of the farm in one piece. He hangs a lit lantern from a nail on the post and then, weighing things up in his mind, decides to close the gate behind him. There may be nobody else here, but it helps to ease his shredded nerves. If he could find a key then he'd lock the farmhouse up as well.

It takes him an hour to restock the rooms with all the items he's scrounged and once the battery lights are lit and the bed is made he begins to relax. There's one more task he insists on doing before the evening is over and that's to clean up outside. Sluicing disinfectant over the stones, Simon pumps out water then, with a stiff yard brush, begins to sweep away all the festering debris into the drain.

Finally he's done. Stripping out of his dirty clothes, he stands naked in the moonlit yard and pours a bucket of pump water over himself. It's cold but good and certainly a damn sight more pleasant than being in that icy pool in the caves. Shower gel replaces the stink of old sweat and smoke, sending him to a nirvana-like state of contemplation and when an extra pair of hands rubs shampoo into his wet hair his heart stutters from shock and he spins around anxiously.

"'S okay," says Jayne who's filled the bucket back up with water and is pouring it over them both. "Just me."

Washing becomes a much lengthier process than necessary although it's more cathartic than sexual. Ignoring the hiss of pain from Jayne, Simon delicately wipes away the dirt from some of the mercenary's worst wounds. "I'll treat these as soon as we get inside," he says.

"Food first?" asks Jayne hopefully, grabbing a towel from where Simon's piled them up on a bench seat at the side of the yard.

"Maybe." Simon would like to have a closer inspection of the worst of those bites. Infection has definitely set in and could easily result in blood poisoning if it's left untreated. Luckily Simon has always been thorough about making sure that every member of the crew is kept up to date with their inoculations.

"Shouldn't be worrying yourself over me, Doc," says Jayne with a tired grin as he wraps the towel around his waist and pushes open the front door of the farmhouse. "You're the one's been doing all the dying so far this trip."

Simon shivers as he follows Jayne inside and it's not because of the cold. The mercenary has such a warped view of things. The man has lived dangerously, but this doesn't alter the fact that his attitude is disturbing. It's almost as if he carries a death-wish around with him on those broad shoulders and Simon doesn't like it one bit. His job is to preserve life at all costs and while they're marooned here in Gainsborough he's going to make sure he does exactly that.

"You done good," says Jayne, pulling on a pair of pants as he looks around the house with a smile of satisfaction. Once again Simon is knocked out by how positively he reacts to gaining an ounce more of the big man's respect. Psychologically speaking he's acting as beta to Jayne's alpha male and it disgusts him a little that he can resort to such a basic behaviour pattern. He's educated and intellectual. Jayne is… well, he's a big, brutish thug.

"What's for supper?" says that big brutish thug and Simon hurries into the kitchen after him, still only half-dressed.

"Just canned cold stuff," he answers despondently as he pulls on a pair of thick hiking socks.

Jayne opens a door on the range. "Is there any firewood?"

Just a ton of it chopped up in the storehouse! Simon is close to tearing his hair out in despair. He'd never once considered that the stove might be a wood burner.

"I'll fetch some," he says, already on his way out of the door, armed with a flashlight.

Ignoring the scurrying of the rats--large rats by the sound of things--Simon fills two sacks with bundles of kindling then heads back to the safety of the kitchen.

"Here," he says, passing them to Jayne who stocks the fire with knotted paper and wood then lights it with some long matches he finds in a cabinet.

"There's oil for lanterns here," says the big man. "That'll save on batteries."

Fifteen minutes later the kitchen is warm and glowing with lamplight and there's beef stew simmering away in a pan. As Simon adds canned potatoes and vegetables to the meat he's still kicking himself for missing such a basic thing as a solid fuel stove.

After dinner, Jayne goes to the yard and pumps water into a copper then sets it on the range to heat up. "I should be cleaning up some of the guns I brought back, but I reckon getting rid of this is a priority." He tugs at his unruly beard.

Simon's relieved he remembered to pick up razors. "Let me see that arm first," he says, sitting down at the table with his bag full of medical supplies and patting the chair next to him.

Jayne does as he's told. "If'n it'll get you off my back," he says with a smile.

Simon has an unexpected vision of mounting Jayne from behind and his cock throbs with excitement. After living a near enough celibate life for so long he's becoming obsessed with the idea of sex, however the severity of Jayne's wound quickly dampens Simon's ardour. He's amazed the man's managed to work the way he has with such an injury. As he cleans up the torn flesh he imagines what it must have felt like to have the Reavers descend like a pack of hungry wolves.

"This time take _all_ the antibiotics," he says as he washes out the wound with antiseptic causing Jayne to yelp. "If the infection spreads up to your elbow then you can easily lose the use of it. If you get gangrene then-"

"I know that part," scowls Jayne as he waits sulkily for Simon to finish bandaging him up. "I ain't a retard," he mutters as he strides out of the room.

They're both tired and edgy, thinks Simon as he moves his chair until it's directly in front of the range, trying to count every blessing, however small it may be.

Jayne returns a few minutes later armed with a mottled chrome shaving mirror and a sheepish look on his face. Sitting down at the table he carefully trims away the excess hair with a pair of kitchen scissors. He then fills a bowl with hot water and, having lathered up his face, begins the slow process of removing that beard. Simon watches fascinated; it's been years since he's seen the man without his trademark goatee. When Jayne's done and his face is clean and dry Simon can't resist reaching out a hand to touch the smoothness of that skin.

"You look different," he says, cocking his head to one side as he evaluates how. "Younger I think."

"It'll grow back," growls Jayne, but nonetheless he leans into Simon's touch.

The moment lasts a long time, both of them drawing something essential from that connection, but eventually Simon pulls back and tends to his own facial hair, shaving most of it away except for a crude attempt at recreating Jayne's beard.

"Shall I keep it?" he asks with a grin.

Jayne looks around from cleaning his teeth. Spluttering with laughter, the foamy paste dribbles down his chin and he rinses and spits. "No," he says emphatically. "Goatees don't sit right on prissy doctors from the Core," but he darts forward and lands a surprise kiss on Simon's lips. "Don't feel so bad though," he adds.

Simon agrees, enjoying the role reversal as he leans in, turning that first soft exchange into something much deeper and as he drags Jayne towards him he imagines them stripping off and rutting--because that's exactly what it would be--right here on the kitchen table.

"Shame we don't got no water rigged up yet," says Jayne, in between kisses. "The back boiler of this old range would heat it up quick."

Now Simon knows the man is only thinking about how good it would be to soak in the tub, but for some reason he sees red and takes it personally. "I've done my best," he yells, shoving Jayne away from him and then flouncing out of the room in a manner fit for a drama queen.

"Doc! _Simon_?"

After that there are no more words from the mercenary, just this long drawn out sigh of exasperation that Simon can hear all the way from the den where he's speed reading one of the engineering manuals. He wants to confess to Jayne that his outburst was only caused by frustration at his own inability to fix the damn power, but he's too tired to explain.

Studying has always been a passion of Simon's and although the first few pages go by in a haze of self-recrimination he soon finds himself drawn into the manual. With pen and paper by his side, he reads and makes notes, trying to understand the complexities of the stored low voltage current from the solar cells and the difference between this and the diesel-generated power.

When the words begin to swim in front of his eyes, Simon knows it's time for bed. Expecting to find Jayne sitting at the kitchen table cleaning guns, he's slightly perturbed to discover the seats are empty, the plates washed and the kitchen has been made ready for the night.

Quickly shaving away the rest of his beard, he cleans his teeth, rinsing with a cup full of pump water, then wards off a flood of misery by thinking about the joys of sleeping in a clean bed for the first time in an age.

Having snuffed out the last oil lantern he heads for the stairs, the house looking far eerier in the beams from the flashlight than it did by day, and with one final, worried glance at the unlocked front door he then races up to the bathroom to use the toilet.

Head full of circuit diagrams and self-pity Simon enters the guest room, hoping that Jayne hasn't decided to find another bed. Thankfully he finds the big man curled up on his side, sleeping so soundly that his breathing is almost inaudible, and having quickly stripped out of his clothes, Simon lies next to him, wrapping an arm around that warm belly. It feels wonderful having someone to share a bed with and, despite his exhaustion, the good feeling spreads, blood thundering through his system and causing his cock to spring to life.

The minutes tick uncomfortably by. Too tired and too excited to sleep, Simon presses a kiss to the back of Jayne's neck then leaves the bedroom and makes his way outside, enjoying the thrill of being naked out in the open. Seated on the bench seat, he begins to masturbate, spitting into his palm and then pulling at his erection with slow, upward strokes. It's a far more peaceful experience than he expected. There's nothing likely to disturb him--it'll take a grenade to wake Jayne--and it's so beautifully dark out here, the world silent except for the sound of the wind in the trees. Simon revels in the space after the claustrophobia of the mine and, jerking rhythmically, he brings himself to a blissful climax then wipes away the semen with a handful of tissue paper he's brought along for the purpose. Now he'll be able to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

By morning Simon's bursting with apologies, however he doesn't get a chance to express them because Jayne has done his usual disappearing act. Come to think of it, the mercenary never did get much rest back on Serenity. Simon can count on one hand the number of times Jayne has turned in before him and then it was probably only to get some hand relief. It shows how exhausted the man is at present to slope off to bed and fall into such a deep sleep so quickly.

Regrets pushed to one side, Simon looks out of the window and sees that the mule has gone. He wishes that Jayne had waited around to ask if there was anything needed from town, still, there should be enough tools lying around the place for him to have a go at fixing the old generator. If he's lucky all it'll need is filling with diesel.

After a quick breakfast of beans and canned pears, Simon strolls out into the sunshine. The sky is a deep, seamless blue and it's looking as if today is going to be blisteringly hot. It's strange living on a world where you have no idea of the seasons. Osiris has a controlled weather system, Serenity too when it's functioning correctly, and yet here they are completely at the mercy of nature. It's oddly liberating.

Taking his shirt off, Simon leaves it on the bench at the front of the house, then with a quick embarrassed smile at the memory of last night, he rolls a drum around to the boiler room at the back of the house. Decanting some of the fuel into a more manageable container, he opens up the tank and pours the diesel inside, a good portion of it spilling and coating his hand in sticky black streaks. Even the human body doesn't produce such indelible waste, he thinks as he wipes away the residue with a rag and then continues to fill the generator, more carefully this time. When he can no longer put off the inevitable, he presses the starter button and jumps back in amazement when the machine shudders noisily into life.

There's only one problem. A quick sprint around the farm tells him that there's still no power. The damn thing _must_ be producing electricity; it's producing enough noise. Collecting his books, notes and a large wrench from the storage shed, Simon heads back to the boiler house, ready to do battle with the _gou cao de_ machine.

As far as he can tell everything is in working order. Crouching down and reading through every manual he brought with him from the library Simon suddenly realises what the problem is. Behind the machine are several industrial-sized batteries. The electricity must be stored inside them until it's needed and then changed over via a switching system. Behind the door, next to the pump control is another smaller panel. One click of the knob has an immediate and gratifying result; light spills out from the overhead strip and by the sound of things, the pump has also sprung into life.

There's an old sink by the door and when Simon takes a wrench to the seized up faucet water gushes out rinsing away the dust and desiccated spider husks from the scratched enamel base. When he hears a noise he naturally assumes that it's Jayne come back to fetch something.

"We have water," he yells happily, turning off the faucet.

There's no answer, just a scrabbling from behind him which quickly increases in volume and as Simon stares at the murky white tiles, he sees a vague reflection of something that's smaller than Jayne but far bigger than any rodent he's ever encountered.

Spinning around, he raises a foot ready to kick out at the Reaver, but the creature is too quick and launches forward, pushing him down onto the dirty concrete floor. The impact is so fierce that Simon sees stars and, worse still, drops the wrench which clatters away towards the far wall. The Reaver kneels over him, saliva dripping from its open jaws and Simon sees death in its eyes. It takes a bite out of his shoulder, chomping and swallowing, then sits back and leers, reaching downwards with clawed hands and ripping away the crotch of Simon's pants to expose his genitals. A sob rising, Simon prepares himself for the worst, but then he thinks about River and the rest of the crew and most of all he thinks of Jayne. With a knee jabbing up into the Reaver's solar plexus he ignores the agony coursing through him and reaches out for the wrench, slamming the heavy tool across the back of his assailant's head in one swift movement.

The Reaver slumps down onto him and the stench rising off the creature is vile. Pushing it away, Simon gulps back the fear and drags the unconscious body out to the empty barn, shackling it to the wall with anything he can find -- rope first for speed followed by leather animal restraints. Shaking with terror he races back inside the house, ignoring the hot slipperiness of the blood that's spilling down his arm as he hunts frantically for those weapons that Jayne mentioned last night. It's only when he's checked every nook of the house, upstairs and down, that he remembers the cellar.

Shivering, he almost takes a tumble down the steps but manages to save himself by hanging on tight to the bent metal handrail. Then, clicking on the overhead light, he sees to his relief that a shotgun and a pistol have been stored there, complete with boxes of ammunition. Loading the handgun he struggles back up the stairs, checking quickly to see if his wound requires attention. It feels horrific, but it's not that bad. He'll live. He'll _live_.

The barn is eerily silent. Simon's loathed to go back in there, but he has no choice if he's to survive this. Opening the doors he peers in, gun raised shakily as he scans the building. Thankfully the creature is still unconscious and, edging further inside, Simon sinks down onto the ground, leaning back against the rough wooden wall and keeping his eyes fixed on his prisoner.

Since being trapped inside Serenity's narrow bulkheads, Simon's learned many intricate methods of passing the time. The infirmary is so neat and tidy that Kaylee and River often gang up and ridicule him for it, but there's nothing obsessive about his organised labeling system, it's just something to do. The other thing he practices, on a slightly more compulsive level, is deep thought. It may not sound like an obsessive disorder, but there are times when Simon wants to shout at everyone to stop _needing_ him so he can take a vacation inside his head.

Gauging the passage of time from the movement of sunbeams across the floor, Simon surmises that it takes the Reaver almost four hours to return to consciousness and another two to make any attempt to free itself. Once it's awake, Simon keeps the gun trained on the creature, proud of how hard he must have slammed that wrench down for it to have lost consciousness for so long. Even though it appears to be safely shackled, Simon's taking no chances and, thinking time over, he waits for Jayne to come back, ignoring the snarling grunts, the pain in his rib cage and shoulder and that growing, desperate thirst.

It's fully dark when he hears the mule turn into the yard and, too tired to shout out, he waits for Jayne to hunt him down.

"You got the power on, Doc," comes a voice, laden with praise. "I knew you could fix it." There's the sound of doors slamming and then footsteps which increase in speed and volume. "Where in gorram hell are you?"

"In the big barn," calls Simon, his throat hoarse and dry. He's not even sure he's made enough sound to be heard until Jayne pushes open the doors.

"Here," says Simon weakly and Jayne moves the beam of his flashlight until it lands on him. "We had a visitor stop by," he says pointing in the direction of his new friend.

"_Qingwa cao de liumang_!" Jayne spits out a few more expletives, but they're new ones to Simon.

Unholstering his pistol, the mercenary aims it at the Reaver, but Simon gets unsteadily to his feet and stands in front of the creature.

"Outta my way, Doc."

Simon shakes his head. Killing in cold blood is abhorrent to him under any circumstances. "Just make sure it can't get free."

"And then what? Do we feed it beefsteak and keep it as a pet?"

"I can't stand by and watch you shoot its head off."

"Well then, get the fuck outta here so's you don't see nothing."

Rubbing his temples to ease off the pressure headache that's building, Simon forgets the state his clothing is in. He can't see the look on Jayne's face, but the sudden intake of breath is a clear indicator of the mercenary's increased level of emotion.

"_Hundan. Chusheng xai-jiao de xiang huo_."

"He… _it_ didn't do anything, Jayne." Simon puts his life on the line, stepping closer to the Reaver, and the more he defends it, the more uncertain he is as to _why_. "I'm okay. I swear." Standing is becoming close to impossible. It's been a horrendous day: he's injured, he's hungry, he's thirsty. "Let's get back to the house. Please." He's not even got the energy left to hold up the torn front of his pants. So exhausted…

Next thing he knows he's leaning against the barn wall, unsure of how he made it back there, while Jayne is securing a pair of rusty shackles around the creature's ankles.

"He ain't going nowhere with these on him," says the mercenary then he swoops down like a grimy, smoke-scented angel and picks Simon up in his arms. "Let's get you fixed up."

Jayne's so gentle with him that it feels as if he's flying and seeing the house all lit up makes him smile dreamily. He did that. It wasn't exactly complicated, but still, he did it by himself. Accomplishments used to come so easy to him yet, recently, every day has become a battle just to keep up.

Laid out in state on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him, Simon watches Jayne hurry about the house, collecting the med kit, fetching him a drink of water, firing up the range. The man doesn't stop moving.

Kneeling on the floor in front of him, Jayne helps Simon out of his clothes. "That dirty sumbitch took a fair sized chunk out of you."

Simon looks sideways at the gouge in his shoulder which is still bleeding after all this time. "It should've clotted by now," he mutters.

"Some old doc once told me they had stuff in their spit makes wounds stay open a while."

"Anti-coagulant enzymes." Simon hisses with pain as Jayne washes the bite with antiseptic and tweezes out every piece of dirt.

"Sorry." The mercenary looks apologetically up at him as he tapes a piece of gauze over the wound. "Forgot to give you these." Handing over a couple of painkillers and the glass of water, he then pulls back the blanket and examines Simon's naked body. "You certain it didn't touch you? You're a pretty shade of black and blue."

"No, I'm fine." Simon discovers how much he likes it when Jayne calls any part of him pretty, even if it's just bruises.

"Well then, you choose yourself some antibiotics while I fix supper."

"You make a good nurse," says Simon as he swallows two more tablets while Jayne tucks him in.

"I had some practice at it," Jayne mutters on his way out of the door.

*

After a meal consisting of noodles, peas and canned chicken, Simon's beginning to feel a lot better. The bite is now just a dull ache, the faintness long gone, and he'd clear away the dishes except that Jayne won't allow it and insists on him sitting down for the remainder of the evening. Making the most of his time off, he reads up on how solar cells work. They may have the power back on for now, but their supply of diesel is far from unlimited.

Going to bed feels unbelievably normal considering what they've been through. After barricading the doors and latching the shutters they trudge up the stairs, Jayne's hand resting against the small of Simon's back.

Closing the bedroom drapes Simon listens to the sound of running water and as he stretches out on the big, comfortable bed, dressed in the dead farmer's robe, he thinks about River and hopes she isn't missing him too much. Maybe she knows he's okay.

"Bath's ready," says Jayne a few minutes later.

That worried look has eased a little, but it's still noticeable, especially around the tensed up corners of the man's mouth.

"I'm honestly fine," says Simon as the mercenary tries to help him into the tub. "Your injuries are far worse than mine."

"I ain't the one that was collapsed in a heap on the floor of the barn an hour ago," says Jayne, taking the robe and hanging it on a hook on the back of the door.

Simon frowns; he had a nagging feeling that he'd fainted like a girl and this explains why Jayne is treating him like one. Shrugging off his embarrassment, he steps into the bath and it's like retracing his steps back into a perfect world. The water is deep and clear and the steam coming off it is dense enough to allow him a moment to forget everything, just for a while. "There's room for two," he says impulsively.

The mercenary stills for a moment, staring at Simon warily, then he undresses, making sure to place his revolver on the side of the sink within easy reach.

The old fashioned tub is plenty big enough for them both and as Jayne slides in behind him, Simon sprawls bonelessly against the big man. "This shouldn't be so easy," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"Gorram right it shouldn't," answers Jayne sleepily. "It'd give Mal one hell of a turn to see us this way."

Simon pictures the look of horror on the captain's face and is about to burst into fits of laughter when, out of the blue and completely out of context, Jayne says, "I'm sorry, Simon."

It's always a shock when the man calls him by his first name and Simon is stunned and more than a little confused by the short sentence. "Sorry for what?" he asks.

"For not making this place safe." Jayne leans his head back on the rim of the tub and stares at the mildewed ceiling. "Been so busy clearing the town that I didn't even think to check the farm over. I should've done. _Wo de tian a_, first day I let you go off without a weapon, not even a knife. You could've been killed. You could've been worse. _Made!_ I'm a stupid, selfish sumbitch."

"Have you finished beating yourself bloody?" says Simon, kneeling up and then straddling that big body. It's a squeeze sitting like this, but, wriggling around, he manages to find a way to get comfortable.

Jayne stares up at him with this blank expression on his face.

"I'm almost thirty years old," continues Simon. "It's not your job to look after me." Squeezing some shower gel into his hand, he rubs his palms together then lathers the soap over Jayne's exposed upper torso. "I was the one who found this place. _I_ should have checked it out more thoroughly."

Jayne closes his eyes as Simon rubs shampoo into his short hair. "Don't make no difference what you say. I know what I should've done."

"Jesus, you're so stubborn." Simon rinses away the suds with cupped hands then leans forward. "We're alive. We're okay. Deal with it."

They kiss, tongues sweeping together, soft cocks nudging each other in the water and at last Simon can feel some of that tension leeching away from the man. Too wound up for this to turn into anything sexual he pulls back, groaning with pleasure as Jayne reciprocates by washing him all over.

"Guess you're right," Jayne says eventually, his hands coming to rest on Simon's hips.

"I'm always right." Simon smiles and then climbs out of the tub, drying himself off on a warm, clean towel. "Haven't you learned that yet?"

Vaguely aware of Jayne redressing his wounded shoulder Simon falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He wakes, sometime later, to the usual empty bed, although contrary to normal it's still dark outside and there's not even a sound from the birds who normally begin their chorusing a good hour before dawn breaks. Wondering whether Jayne was left hard and horny after their shared bath, Simon decides to investigate, pulling on a pair of pants then sneaking barefoot down the stairs, hoping for a chance to play voyeur.

The mercenary is nowhere to be found inside and so, after kicking on a pair of shoes, Simon quietly opens the front door. At first he ignores the bestial gruntings of their prisoner, hunting for Jayne anywhere but the barn. However the muttered Mandarin curses soon convince him of the man's location.

The scene inside the timber building is not a pretty one. Halogen light casts elongated shadows, making everything seem worse than it truly is -- at least Simon hopes that's the case. The captured Reaver is strung from a cross beam by its wrists in much the same way those godforsaken miners had been, but this time Jayne is the one who's responsible. With a sickle in one hand and some kind of nightstick in the other the mercenary looks terrifying, blank expression and spatters of blood adding to the horror.

"Jayne!"

The man ignores him, stabbing the cudgel into the Reaver's torso, the sparking and ensuing muscle spasm indicating that the weapon is some kind of electric animal prod.

"Jayne, stop this now."

The sickle slices through skin as if it's butter and a deluge of bloody guts spill out of the Reaver's left side.

"Please, Jayne. No."

Simon discovers that he's crying, sympathising with the piece of filth that only a few hours ago had tried to rape him. This is the worst feeling ever -- to have it spelled out for all to see how truly weak he is.

Snatching the rifle from where it's resting against the wall, Simon fires at the creature's head. The first shot misses by a mile, but as soon as he squeezes the trigger again Simon knows that the second is going to hit true and, jerking violently from the recoil, he watches as the skull explodes like rotting fruit.

"Why?" he asks as they cut the body down and carry it to the ice house. Opening the doors, they throw it inside where it lands with a wet squelch on top of the growing pile of corpses. "For god's sake why, Jayne?"

"I need a gorram drink." The mercenary strides off to the courtyard where he washes himself down with water from the pump then walks purposefully into the house.

Simon keeps a safe distance away, uncertain of Jayne's intentions, uncertain right now of the man's _sanity_ and, understandably, it takes him a while to collect his thoughts. Washing the dead Reaver's blood off his hands, he stares at the brownish residue covering the stones, wishing fervently that the moonlight wasn't bright enough to pick out every detail.

Having put off the inevitable for as long as he dare, Simon enters the house, closing the door behind him and switching on the lights. Jayne is sitting at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on a bottle of liquor that he must have smuggled in at some point. Simon's never seen it before today and if he had then he would have probably poured it down the sink. The bottle is still full, an encouraging sign, but in contrast Jayne's eyes are exceptionally empty.

Simon scrapes the chair back across the floor and sits opposite him.

"You want to know why." The big man's voice is devoid of emotion and he stares vacantly down at his fingernails.

Simon nods. "I _need_ to know why. I need to know that I can trust you."

"You can trust me."

"I'm not certain of that."

Jayne looks up, his eyes filling with something ancient. "Did I ever tell you 'bout where I was born?" he asks.

Simon considers the question carefully. He knows Mal's story and he's heard Kaylee's a hundred times over, but Jayne's never discussed his past with him. Up until recent times they've only ever communicated via insult. "No," he says coldly, wondering what this has to do with pointless torture of a subhuman.

"Was on a space ship out there somewhere." Jayne looks upward. "Got no place of birth listed, just co-ords."

It's not uncommon. Simon's seen many medical records with similar details.

"My pa was with one of the teams working for the Federal Colonisation Program. He travelled 'round from rock to rock, welding up the framework of them base stations and then moving on. We went with him, family growing all the while."

It's not the most pleasant of lives, but certainly nothing terrible. Simon's always pictured a far worse upbringing for the mercenary.

Jayne goes back to staring at the bottle. "There was seven of us when it happened -- Pa and Ma, me, my three sisters and the baby Matthew. He was just eight months old back then."

Drawing his chair forward Simon leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting on laced fingers. Everything outside of this room is inky black and silent. "Go on," he says in a half-whisper.

"The base was halfway finished when Reavers hit like a plague. Looking back I reckon there was no more than three crews at the most, but it seemed to me like there was a billion of them. 'Bout a quarter of our team got away in the transport ship, but the rest of us weren't so lucky."

"How old were you?"

"Nine. I was the eldest and Pa needed me to be responsible. He told me to take Ma and the baby and find a safe hiding place then stay there. No matter what I was to see or hear, I was to stay there."

Simon shivers. He should have seen this coming. It wasn't as if the mercenary hadn't telegraphed his fears for everyone to pick up on.

"On site were these big old transport crates that the construction materials came in. I used to play in them with some of the other kids. Ma had Mattie all swaddled up against her, a bottle stuffed in his mouth to keep him quiet, and I pushed them in then followed, shutting us inside. I told her sit to at the back and keep tight hold of the baby while I peeked out of the vent holes to see what was going on."

Jayne looks up, lost somewhere and Simon can no longer tell if his eyes are vacant or brimming over with too much feeling.

"If'n I'd just had a knife…"

"You were _nine_, Jayne."

"I was big for my age. I could've done something."

"What happened next?" Simon doesn't want to ask the question, but if he remains silent then the moment will be over and Jayne will go back to coping as best he can.

"Pa was carrying two of the girls and dragging the other along behind him. She was screaming, screaming so loud and if I'd gone and got her…"

"Then you'd have put your mother and the baby in danger," says Simon softly. He slides a hand across the surface of the table, his fingertips making contact with Jayne's.

"Reavers move so rutting quick," says the mercenary, looking up and connecting with Simon at last. "They don't look it, but one minute you're clear and the next they're on you. The stink is always the gorram same. I can smell it in my sleep."

"What happened?" Simon asks again, wondering if he'll dream of Reaver stench from now on.

"Pa fought them off as long as he could, but he weren't strong enough on his own."

Simon gets up from the table to fetch two enamelware mugs then sits back down and pulls the stopper out of the bottle of brandy, pouring out two large measures. Pushing a cup towards Jayne, he leaves the bottle open, certain that they'll both be needing more before the night is out.

"The Reavers took the girls from him and he fought so gorram hard to get them back, but there was one of him and two dozen of them. They left him unconscious on the floor and then, right there in front of me, they butchered my sisters. Butchered them into cuts of meats."

"_Tianna_!" Simon swallows back the bile that rises to his throat.

"They left soon after that. Took the food and equipment they came for and went. When it was safe we came out of that crate. Pa was ripped up bad, but still alive and once he came to and told Ma what had happened she just about broke her heart. Only that one time though, after then she just got on with life." Jayne swallows down the liquor. "No one came for us," he continues. "We were stuck there, about twenty of us in a looted, half-finished station on a piece of dirt that didn't even have a name. No comm. No nothing. The feds just left us there to die."

"I… I'm sorry." Simon grieves for the small boy that Jayne once was. Everything begins to makes sense: the big man's obsession with weapons, his hatred of Reavers, his desire to keep family safe. His guilt.

"What're _you_ sorry for? You weren't there. You didn't do nothing." Jayne glares at him. "It ain't your problem. You wanted to know why I done what I done and I told you. End of story."

Simon refills both mugs. Ignoring Jayne's outburst he reaches out his hand once more. "How did you survive?" he asks, skin resting against skin.

"Just built up a colony like the settlers would've done. There weren't enough of us, but we managed. Finished off the base then built housing and planted out crops. My folks are still there now."

Jesus! No wonder Jayne doesn't ever want to visit his home-world. "Why?" Simon asks incredulously.

"Not enough coin to relocate," says Jayne matter-of-factly. "'Sides Mattie was always too sickly for space travel and Pa weren't ever the same after. Hardly spoke a word since that day. Every time I looked at him I could see death in his eyes."

Simon's never seen the big man come so close to crying before and he hopes he never will again. Shoving the chair back he gets to his feet and hurries round to the other side of the table, bending over and wrapping his arms around Jayne's neck.

"S'why I did it. To stop it happening again. And I ain't sorry, whatever you think of me."

The words reverberate against Simon's skin. Shoving back the table he straddles Jayne's thighs, threading his fingers into dark hair and staring into desolate eyes. "Tomorrow we're going to check over every inch of this property together," he says. "Then we're going to make the house secure and keep all the guns loaded. After that you're going to teach me how to use weapons."

Tonight, though, they need something else and being halfway to drunk helps Simon to take the initiative. Licking a path over the new growth of Jayne's soul patch he takes that full lower lip between his teeth and tugs at it gently.

The big man pulls away. "If'n this is about pity then-"

"_Wo de ma_!" Simon leans back, taking hold of Jayne's hand and laying it over the solid column of his own erection. "This is how much I want you." He strokes a palm up Jayne's thickening _ji ba_. "And this is how much you want me. Do the math."

"Was never much good at numbers."

Jayne smiles. It's a weak and watery attempt but Simon'll choose that small twitch of lips over the man's previous blankness. "Bed," he insists, climbing off Jayne's lap and tugging him towards the stairs.

By the time they reach their room Simon's harder than he's ever been in his life. It shouldn't be like this, not after the relentless horror they've been living through recently, yet somehow this makes Simon all the more desperate. He's never been one to take control, but, despite being willing, Jayne remains docile, spaced out, and Simon has to push him back onto the bed, crawling over him then shoving at both their pants and pressing his rigid cock against overheated skin.

Clinging on tightly, Simon begins this slow grind, speeding up as the wetness flows out of them and he pushes them closer with deliberate strokes he watches carefully as Jayne wakes from his dream state.

"Fuck," he moans, dragging Simon against him then pulling him closer for kisses. "Fuck!"

The sex takes over, a flash fire of hot, slick friction. Simon's panting into Jayne's mouth, his hips are pumping furiously and with his hands gripping Jayne's hips he arches up and comes in wet, heaving pulses, recovering quickly enough to enjoy the sight and the feel of Jayne's orgasm.

Afterwards, Jayne buries himself in the comforter and Simon can tell that the man is still working through the events of the day -- probably lost within some of those bad memories. This is a positive thing though. It's far better that Jayne do this than shut off his feelings, the way he's been doing for years.

"What were your sisters called?" asks Simon softly as he cleans them both with a handful of toilet paper.

The big man tenses and Simon wraps an arm around him, curving up against that strong body. The position makes him feel both protected and protector.

"Abigail, Emma and Joanna. Abi was just a year younger 'n me, the twins were five…" His voice fades into abject weariness. "I can't talk about this now, Doc. I'm too tired."

It's too soon, Simon thinks. Jayne's held back from grieving for so long that he needs space to come to terms with things. Simon went through the exact same process when he finally accepted that the sister he had known and loved was gone. They aren't as dissimilar as he once thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Simon wakes at around midday to the unusual sensation of _not_ being alone in the bed. Jayne isn't asleep; instead he's lying on his back with both hands tucked behind his head looking more relaxed than Simon's seen him in years. Dark circles smudging the underneath of his eyes are the only evidence of any trauma.

"Thought you was never gonna wake up." Jayne rolls onto his side. "Been wanting to do this for near on an hour." He slides down the bed and kisses Simon's belly. "Didn't want to disturb you though. You looked too pretty to touch."

Simon's aching even before the first press of Jayne's lips and when that tongue laves his erection in slow, delicate swipes he has to cling on to the mattress to stop himself from thrusting down Jayne's throat.

The need to piss, to come, to have Jayne's cock in his mouth all meld together into this frenzy and, shoving at the big man, he repositions them into a top and tail.

The mercenary is well hung; Simon's known that for years being his doctor, but he's still surprised at how much of a stretch it is to suck him off. Jayne's careful though--he's probably always had to be--and there's no urgent plunge into Simon's mouth. As Simon breathes in the pungent scent of last night's sex his arousal builds and he begins to suck harder, grunting with pleasure as Jayne matches him swipe for swipe, lick for lick.

The sex may have started out gently but it grows into something quite feral and Simon revels in it, taking as much of Jayne down his throat as he can manage whilst imagining what it will feel like when they finally have intercourse and Jayne's powering into him with that big, thick _ji ba_.

Hell, it's too much! The heat and the smell and the wild thoughts push him over the edge and with another muffled grunt he bucks up and comes into Jayne's mouth. "Oh god," he mumbles as the orgasm crashes over him and Jayne brings him down with his hand. "Oh god."

Turning swiftly, Jayne straddles Simon's chest then with one hand resting against the wall he leans forward, sliding the head of his cock between Simon's open lips and jerking hard. Half a dozen strong pulls later he's there. When the first pulse of spunk lands on Simon's tongue, Jayne eases back a little, letting his semen spatter Simon's face then working himself off until he's done.

It's a gorgeous sight, enough to start Simon thinking strange, convoluted thoughts. "What happens if we don't manage to make contact with anybody?" he asks as Jayne clambers off and collapses down next to him with a sigh of contentment.

The big man leans forward, kissing the droplets away from Simon's skin. "We will," he replies.

"But what if we don't?" If someone confronted him right now, demanding to know his wishes, Simon wouldn't be certain of the answer. For the first time ever he's beginning to realise what it would be like to live a normal life, without guilt or repression of his desires, and the idea is intoxicating.

"If'n we don't then we make the best of things," says Jayne. "There's most likely game to hunt in the woods. There's crops we can grow."

He's done this before, Simon remembers. He knows what it's like to build a life out of nothing.

"It won't be so bad," continues Jayne.

No, it really won't, thinks Simon, amazed at how much he's changed in such a short time. Living a lie for all those years formed him into a bitter, cynical man. Coming out has removed every ounce of that resentment and he kisses Jayne as a thank you for the emancipation.

*

Well sexed and clean from a long soak in the tub, Simon opens his eyes to a brand new day -- a brand new afternoon to be specific.

"Reckon we've missed most of today," grins Jayne as he pours them both a mug of coffee from the old percolator that's bubbling on the stove.

"It was worth it." Simon can't get rid of the smug expression on his face. They may not have actually had intercourse yet, but they've spent a good few hours indulging in some intense foreplay and this slow build up is only whetting Simon's appetite for more. Just thinking about it makes his exhausted cock tingle.

"Could fuck you all day long," says Jayne with a twinkle in his eye, "but you was right about what you said last night. We need to make this place secure. Don't want no more unwelcome surprises."

"Agreed." Simon recalls that blackened forked tongue and, without thinking, he reaches for Jayne's hand.

After indulging in a very late breakfast, Jayne gets up from the table, returning a moment later with a heavy leather gun belt. "I want you to keep this on at all times," he says, watching as Simon fastens the buckle.

Even empty it feels odd, restrictive in a way, then Jayne slides a hunting knife into the sheath at the back and a pistol into the holster and Simon has to re-adjust to the additional weight and fear factor. Normally he feels repulsed by the idea of handling weapons, but not today. He's learnt a hard lesson that in a situation like theirs, guns are a necessity.

Jayne stands back and admires him. "You look a sight more manly than usual."

Simon rises to the bait. Stalking forward, hands on his hips in a parody of a gunslinger, he thrusts himself up against Jayne. "Think I've shown you plenty of times how manly I am." He's fully aware of how ridiculous he sounds, but Jayne's libido doesn't seem to find him so absurd.

"Hell, Doc," the man groans, pressing his very obvious erection against Simon's hip.

"You're an easy lay, Jayne Cobb."

Jayne nods. "Ain't no doubt about that."

"But we have work to do before evening," continues Simon.

"Ain't no doubt about that either," says Jayne ruefully, taking a slow stride backward.

This is one of those moments that astounds Simon -- when he realises that he not only fancies the mercenary, but is beginning to thoroughly enjoy his company too.

"C'mon then, sawbones," says Jayne as he heads out of the kitchen door. "Let's get down to some graft."

Happiness is not something that Simon is accustomed to feeling, but there's no denying that he's awash with it as he follows Jayne out into the afternoon sunshine.

Even dealing with the dead bodies doesn't throw him out of his good mood and as they burn the last of the corpses Simon heaves a sigh of relief. The air may be filled with putrid smoke, but it feels a damn sight cleaner than it has done since they got here.

They search the farm buildings together, thankfully finding no sign of any other intruders, and afterwards, while Simon is hosing out the barn, Jayne sets to work checking through all the junk in the shed.

"I was hoping there'd be some good solid bolts here," calls Jayne, "but I ain't found nothing yet."

Simon turns off the water and rests a palm on the door jamb as he watches Jayne sift through piles of old household items and tools. "I'll go into town and fetch some from the mercantile," he says helpfully. There are one or two other things he could do with picking up.

"No!"

The single word is spoken so vehemently that Simon recoils slightly.

"We ain't certain it's safe," continues the mercenary, looking up from where he's crouched on the floor, hunting through some old packing crates. "Humour me, Doc."

Simon isn't sure whether he's flattered or insulted by this kind of treatment.

"Hah!" Jayne's voice rises in triumph a moment later as he tips out a selection of bolts and latches from an old cigar box. "I knew the old feller would've had some. From the look of the house he kept just about everything. Won't be needing to go to town now after all."

"Jayne," says Simon, picking his words carefully, "I didn't get hurt yesterday." The wound on his shoulder is healing and he's making certain that they both take their full course of antibiotics. "I was okay, even without having a gun. I don't need looking after."

"Just until I teach you how to use that pistol."

It's almost a plea and, because of it, Simon relents, his quiet, "okay," more a sigh than a word.

"I'll keep hunting through this _gou shi_ and you can go fix bolts to the doors and the shutters." Jayne looks at him through narrowed eyes. "You do _know_ how to use a screwdriver, don't you?" he adds with a sly smile.

Simon ignores the mercenary's snideness, knowing that it's nothing more than a defense mechanism, and nods, positive that it can't be overly complicated to fix a piece of metal to a hunk of wood...

Three hours, several blisters and a split thumb later Simon throws his tools down onto the kitchen table, finally happy that the house is secure. Washing away the grime from his hands and face, he reaches for the first aid kit, wrapping a band aid around the sliced flesh on the ball of his thumb and Jayne's slight smirk of amusement doesn't go unnoticed.

The man is puzzling over a large piece of equipment. As he turns it back and forth it leaves a trail of mouse droppings and dust all over the kitchen table.

Simon tries not to count how many diseases could be contracted from rodent excrement. "What's that?" he asks.

"It's an old telegraph," says the mercenary, fiddling with the broken keys. "Rim worlds used them a lot back in the day."

"For communications?"

Jayne looks up with a grin. "A candy for the clever doctor man."

Simon glowers at him. It's not his fault he's from a different side of the verse. "Didn't _anyone_ here own a Telefonix?"

"Probably not. Ordinary folk don't earn enough coin," says Jayne. "They had a federal office in town which must've had Cortex, but the Reavers burned it to the ground."

"Will this thing be of any use to us?" Simon leans over Jayne's shoulder and has a good look at the rusted metal and disconnected wires.

Jayne shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "Old space freighters used to use short wave transmissions for emergencies."

Musing aloud, Simon says, "there could still be a frequency set aside for that. I'll see if I can find anything out from the library tomorrow."

Jayne turns to look at him. "Tomorrow we're teaching you how to use those weapons, _dong ma_? Besides, we ain't even sure if we can get this thing working."

Simon has to agree it doesn't look hopeful and when Jayne finishes cleaning the machine and connects the power supply, it remains as lifeless as ever. Not that that matters since they'd need to rig some kind of antenna to have a chance of making contact with the outside verse.

The mercenary unplugs it from the outlet and tugs impatiently at a few loose wires that have been gnawed in half. "I ain't good at this kind of shit. Reckon this'll be another job for you." Lifting the telegraph machine onto the floor he kicks it over towards the corner with a disgruntled sigh.

Simon can't work out his own feelings on the subject let alone second guess Jayne's. "Maybe we should forget it for tonight," he suggests gently.

"Sounds good to me, Doc." Jayne leans back precariously on his chair. "Now for the big question. You want canned ham or canned chicken for supper?"

*

Simon straps on his gun belt and with a quick smile at the awkward reflection that's looking back at him from the mirror he heads downstairs. The mercenary is seated at the table surrounded by weaponry and it's so reminiscent of how life was back on Serenity that Simon does a double take, expecting River to dance into the room at any second. When Jayne looks up, a broad smile on his face, the illusion fades fast.

"What d'you want me to learn you first?"

Things are _not_ the same as they were. In fact it's hard to express how much better they are. Scratching his head, Simon considers Jayne's question. He has no idea which skill will be most useful. Hand to hand, guns, knives, it's all the same to him. "No clue," he says helplessly.

"I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm, Doc."

Simon wraps his arms around Jayne's neck. He loves hearing these occasional, out-of-character phrases from the man. They reveal an embedded intelligence that Jayne is uncomfortable showing to most people. It's strange; on Osiris intellect was everything. The smarter you were the more likely you were to attract a mate from one of the better families. Maybe where Jayne grew up physical strength was a more valued asset. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He depends on Jayne for support and protection and enjoys having him in bed for reasons that aren't entirely about fucking.

"Surprise me." Simon presses his lips to the back of Jayne's neck.

Jayne turns his head, engaging him in a lengthy good morning kiss, but before things heat up too much Simon drags himself away. They'll never get anything done if they end up falling back into bed. Having sex available whenever they want it should dull the appetite, but instead it's having the opposite effect on the both of them. "Later," he says, his hands squeezing Jayne's shoulders.

"How _much_ later?"

Simon shakes his head. It'd be seconds rather than hours if he were to give in to his urges, but he's not about to do that. Packing a backpack with enough food and drinks for the day, he slips on a jacket. It's still early and cold enough to be bracing. Maybe the hot season is coming to an end.

"Can't get used to you being all kitted up like a soldier boy." Jayne grins broadly then begins filling a duffel bag with all kinds of weaponry.

"Can't get used to you being all friendly," banters Simon. More than friendly, he thinks as they collide into each other by the door and make out for a while before securing the house with a heavy duty padlock.

Simon hasn't ventured outside the farmyard since he got here and it's a joy to see the early morning sunlight dancing off the leaves, a slight breeze rippling the meadow grass like waves on the ocean.

"Would be good if'n they'd left us some horses to ride," mutters Jayne as they walk off through the fields, heading for the distant line of the woods.

Simon remembers the animal carcasses in the far pasture and suddenly things seem less perfect.

"First things first," says Jayne, stopping and rooting around in his bag, "'m gonna teach you how to shoot that pistol." He lines up a row of weighted tin cans on a fallen tree then, taking Simon by the arm, he leads him away from the makeshift targets. "Now you gotta learn to loosen up. Most important thing is to be relaxed about it."

Simon takes the bag off his shoulder and pulls the pistol out of his holster. Despite the coolness of the early morning he's sweating, more nervous about being useless than of actually firing the weapon. He's done that since he's been here. He's already a killer.

Jayne adjusts Simon's stance, kneeing his legs further apart then resting those big palms on his hips. "Now hold the grip in your right hand and keep the barrel pointing down."

Simon does as he's told, very conscious of Jayne's close proximity.

"Load up the chamber then, making sure your finger is outside the guard, wrap your left hand around for support and bring the gun up to eye level."

Jayne's a surprisingly good instructor.

"Now shift that right foot forward slightly and lean forwards, aligning the sights with that first can, breathe in then out and when you're ready squeeze the trigger."

Stepping back, Jayne allows Simon some room. His first attempt goes awry, he jerks at the trigger and the bullet flies off course. The second is just as bad mostly because the recoil has made him a little shaky and he doesn't take enough time to remember Jayne's instructions. The third shot, however, hits true and to his amazement this happens again and again and again. An hour later, he's losing some of that newfound accuracy, his arms tight from being in that same position for so long, shoulders hurting from the force of the gunshots.

"'Nough of that for now," says Jayne as Simon empties his chamber and misses three out of six. "You're doing good for a beginner."

Simon frowns, wanting to master this before he stops for the day. He's reached a point where he's comfortable with the revolver, but is certainly not great at shooting. "I need more practice," he demands.

"You'll be hurting enough by tonight." Jayne smiles. "Anyways I wanna take a trek up through the woods see if there's any game to be had."

The thought of fresh meat on the table wipes that scowl away from Simon's face and, following Jayne along the track, he keeps his eyes open for edible vegetation. The area must be full of foodstuffs if only he knew a little more about the indigenous flora.

After a good two hours of hiking, Simon's growing tired and irritable. "Can we stop?" he grumbles and when Jayne ignores him he becomes ever more petulant. "I thought today was supposed to be about teaching me to defend myself."

All of a sudden Jayne rounds on him, duffel thrown to the floor, rifle and coat joining it soon after and when the mercenary stalks forward, unbuckling his gun belt and tossing it aside, Simon's actually a little afraid.

"C'mon then, Doc. Let's see what you're made of," Jayne strips out of his tee-shirt and throws it onto the growing pile of his belongings. "This is as good a place as any."

Simon takes the bag off his shoulder then removes his own gun belt, placing both items carefully on the ground. Jayne's right; the area is covered in this thick spongy grass which should break his fall nicely when he gets humiliated in this show of masculinity.

Barreling forward, he soon finds out that the terrain isn't as soft as it looks and glaring upwards he takes hold of Jayne's hand and uses it as a prop to drag himself to a standing position.

"You see what you done wrong there? You didn't look, you didn't get balanced and you telegraphed exactly how you was going to come at me. That'll get you nowhere 'cept dead."

Simon thinks back to how easily the Reaver had him on the ground and nods slowly. "Show me then."

He listens carefully as Jayne explains how to get out of a strangleholds and arm-bars and the first dozen times of trying to put knowledge into practice he ends up tumbling onto the ground, but when he finally succeeds in using balance and tactics to get out of a headlock and tips Jayne over as part of his defensive manoeuvering he can't describe it in any other way than absolute elation. He knows it's just an endorphin rush but, damn, it's good -- better than shooting guns any day.

"Hell, Doc," says Jayne as he lies underneath Simon, breathing fast. "You're a quick learner."

Power is a wonderful aphrodisiac. With that muscular body solid between his legs, Simon immediately firms up to full erection. Running his hand over Jayne's belly he leans forward, tracing the outline of Jayne's tattoo with the tip of his tongue then moving across to kiss each dark nipple and lick a path upward from chest to throat.

Jayne's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, a hungry expression on his face. "Want something, do ya?"

"Want you," breathes Simon, peppering kisses over Jayne's jaw.

"Well then, go ahead and have me. I ain't complaining."

The moment is incredibly erotic. Simon pushes his hand down inside the waistband of Jayne's pants searching out the velvet hardness of his cock. God, he loves the feel of Jayne's _ji ba_, loves that delirious look on the man's face when he's being touched up. More than anything he wants them to fuck, but this isn't the place for a first time. The slow ascent towards full sex is both intense and highly frustrating but in a very good way. He never expected Jayne would be the kind of guy to tolerate waiting, let alone enjoy it.

Unzipping Jayne's pants Simon takes hold of that cock and lets it slip dry through his fingers, enjoying the accompanying whoosh of breath that's expelled from Jayne's lungs. Tugging those combats down low, Simon insinuates himself in between Jayne's thighs, scattering kisses over that hairy stomach then dipping his tongue in and out of the man's navel. Jayne bucks up, moaning a little, his erect cock rubbing against Simon's skin and, wetting his finger with spit, Simon decides to take things a little further.

Jayne stills the moment Simon touches him. "I ain't never been a bottom," he mutters.

Simon continues to circle Jayne's hole with the tip of his wet finger. "Just playing," he says. "A finger can feel good."

"I _know_ that." Jayne lifts his head up and glares. "I ain't a gorram virgin, you know. Just that…" His sentence tails off.

"Just that you've never had a prick inside you." Simon's laughing, but all the while he continues to work at Jayne, loosening him up.

"Think you're real funny, don't you?" says Jayne, but despite those narrowed eyes he squirms around to get his boots, socks and pants off then spreads a little wider making it easier for Simon to carry on with his exploratory games. "Bet you done a whole heap of this… professionally speaking, I mean," he says with a grin, fully naked now and relaxing back into the grass.

Simon's a surgeon not a proctologist and he would answer back except that right now he has an inch of finger inside Jayne and his lips are closing around a rock solid erection.

He adores blowing the man, fell in love with it the moment he got his mouth on that big, fat knob and would happily do it all day long. With his finger milking Jayne's prostate in gentle, downward strokes and his hard on grinding into the rough cotton of his combat pants, he settles in for a long session in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

When Jayne begins to thrash wildly, Simon readies himself for a mouthful of come, but instead, every muscle tightening, the man cries out, his body bucking and trembling as he holds back his ejaculation.

Breathing erratic, Jayne once again rounds on Simon, but this time with something very different in his eyes. All but ripping Simon's clothes off, he pushes him back onto the grass, lifting and spreading his legs then sliding his tongue up Simon's crack until the tip makes contact with his hole.

_Tianna_! Simon's going to come from the rimming alone. When that tongue squirms deeper, licking him inside and out, he's on the point of begging for a fuck, but then Jayne pulls back, changing position until he's straddling Simon with a hand on both their cocks, working them both fiercely, the feel of that skin, all calloused and hot, driving Simon wild.

Jayne comes first, spunk streaming out of him, a ton of it built up from the thorough prostate milking and dry orgasm he had earlier. The feel of the hot fluid spattering Simon's skin pushes him over the edge and he thrusts uncontrollably into Jayne's fist, breaking into a sweat as he climaxes.

"That's a guy." Jayne licks the semen off each hand in turn. "So gorram pretty."

Simon collapses back into the grass. It's as if there's never been an Osiris, or a Serenity, or, god forgive him, a sister called River. It's as if that foul-mouthed, mannerless mercenary never existed. There's just now… and them.

"Y'okay, Doc?"

Blinking himself back to reality Simon sees Jayne leaning over him, worry obvious in the man's eyes. There's no need for it though because he's more than okay.

"I'm good," he answers.

*

They stay out all day and it's such a wonderful change from being cooped up inside that Simon is filled with this childish need to spin around and around until he's dizzy or maybe roll down the grassy hillside. He resists the urge.

"There's a fair-sized herd of deer here in these woods," says Jayne, squatting down and examining the tracks. "Though we ain't gonna see any today with all the noise we been making."

Simon isn't sure if he's talking about the gunfire or the sex.

"We've got a chance at some rabbit though," continues the mercenary, "Just need to rest back here in the trees a while and be patient." Jayne kneels down, opening his case and taking out a gun. "You wanna try it?"

"I'm no use with rifles," replies Simon, only too aware of his own shortcomings. He's happy to concede that physicality is not his forte.

"This ain't a rifle, it's a shotgun." Jayne throws Simon an affectionate look. "Sprays out pellets which means more chance of bagging some of the little critters for supper."

Simon shrugs, doubtful that he's ever going to care much about the specifics of hunting weapons -- unless, of course, they end up living on the outskirts of this ghost town for many years to come.

"I don't see anything to kill," he murmurs, paying a little more attention.

"Perfect place for rabbits," says Jayne, pointing a finger across the terrain. "See where the edge of the trees turns into low shrub and brambles. Once the sun starts to go down then they'll be out grazing."

It happens exactly the way Jayne describes. In less than an hour they have two rabbits ready for the pot and, both of them too tired to stay out any longer, they make their way back home. It's bordering on bizarre to think that Love Knot Farm has now replaced Serenity as Simon's home. He's becoming nomadic, setting up camp wherever the wind blows him.

"I'll gut these out the back," says Jayne once he's checked the house over from roof space to cellar, his revolver in his hand. "You light the range and fire up the generator."

Chores done, Simon sinks into a chair with a huge sigh of relief. He's exhausted; he can't ever remember being this physically tired before, and is almost on the point of dozing off when Jayne marches in, a cold breeze accompanying him and slamming the door back on its hinges.

"Found some taters and beans in the garden," the man says triumphantly, slamming the two rabbits and a pile of vegetables down on the table. "They're overgrown a mite, but who gives a rut, eh? Fresh veggies! Ain't had any of them for a year or more."

Once upon a time, Simon would not only have turned his nose up at the mess on the table, but also at Jayne's ugly use of language. Now he just leans back and opens a drawer, reaching in for a paring knife. "It's getting cold," he says as he wipes the crusted earth off one of the potatoes and begins to peel away the skin.

Back-heeling the door shut, Jayne places one of the rabbits onto a block and begins to butcher it. "Weather looks to be on the turn. Clouds are building out to the east of us, big uns too. We oughta stock up tomorrow in case the change sets in."

Simon's good mood dissipates. "I need to mend those solar panels as soon as possible," he says gloomily. "There's not a lot of diesel left in town."

"Now you listen up," says Jayne, stopping what he's doing and staring at Simon. "Things are okay. We got fresh food to cook and a safe place to stay and we can make the trip to Hartford when stocks get low. It's fifty miles or so over the ridge but nothing we can't handle. All's good." He pauses. "Got some other good things happening too, I reckon," and his smile is full of warmth rather than the usual crudity.

Simon's baffled. His world has been turned haywire and he naturally assumed Jayne felt the same way, but this apparently isn't the case. With the Reavers gone from Gainsborough, Jayne is growing more comfortable as each day passes.

"Gotta think positive, Doc," the big man adds as he joints the meat.

As if to emphasise their earlier conversation, rain begins to spit lightly against the windows, the droplets growing steadily heavier and spilling down the glass in streaks.

"That ain't a bad thing," says Jayne, looking speculatively at the worsening weather. "Could do with a downpour to wash them streets."

"How far did you get with the clean up?" asks Simon. It's something they hardly ever talk about. Too gruesome. Too much of a reminder.

"I shifted all the bodies that were left into the town hall." Jayne snorts with laughter. "Probably the most use it's ever been."

Simon thinks back to its location, a fair distance away from the other buildings. "We could burn the place down," he suggests, surprisingly excited at the idea of committing arson. This new life they're forging is so visceral and yet, rather than disgusting him as it would have done before, he finds it a catharsis. He's never experienced anything like this.

"'S what I thought too." Jayne rinses the meat then salts it, oils it, throws it into a roaster and places it in the range. "I ain't a fancy cook," he says with an apologetic smile.

"I ain't any kind of a cook."

Simon laughs at his own bad mimicry of Jayne's accent then dodging a playful cuff from the big man, he carries the potatoes over to sink, washing them under running water and dropping them and the handful of green beans into two separate pans.

This meal, however appalling it's likely to taste, is a thing to be remembered -- their first attempt at doing things for themselves on this devastated rock. It's cause for celebration and taking the bottle of brandy from the shelf, Simon notes with satisfaction that Jayne hasn't touched another drop.

The storm continues to build, rain lashing the window panes, and Simon can feel his skin tingle with excitement as he pours two mugs of liquor and replaces the bottle.

"Hell, it's getting wild out there," says the mercenary, gazing at the sky.

Simon can see that same wildness reflected in Jayne's eyes, feral and dark, and with a low moan the big man strides forward, his mouth locking against Simon's, bristles of the newly grown goatee grazing Simon's skin.

Supper forgotten, the kitchen detritus is swept off the table, brandy spilling onto the floor, as Jayne half-lifts, half-shoves Simon onto the wooden surface and with a couple of quick flicks of his fingers has both their pants undone and pushed down.

Jayne's erection is as urgent as Simon has ever seen it and gulping with excitement he watches him reach for the bottle of cooking oil and slather a handful over his cock.

"Your turn," growls the big man.

Fuck! Those greased up fingers burrowing inside him turn Simon into an incendiary ball of need and he grows dizzy with longing. He's not had full sex for two years and even then it was nothing more than a sad encounter with a rent boy from a cheap bagnio on Boros.

Jayne clambers up onto the table, pants getting caught up in his eagerness to rut. "Gorramit," he snarls, kicking off his clothing and then kneeling in between Simon's open legs. With one hand around his erection and the other braced on the table he drops suddenly, his body weight crushing Simon and taking his breath away in this wheeze of pleasure.

Instinctively Simon lifts his legs high and hooks them tightly around Jayne, the slight shift in position pushing them intimately together. He waits, every part of him throbbing with expectation as Jayne's cock rests against his hole. The stillness probably lasts no longer than ten seconds but it feels more like an hour. Gulping back the whine that's rising in his throat, he bucks upward taking Jayne inside him and the initial pain is so good it brings tears to his eyes.

"Can't. Gotta," groans Jayne and with a pump of his hips embeds himself deeply in Simon.

Fuck, it's good, deliciously agonizing in a way that Simon only ever experiences through anal sex. His body rising to meet Jayne's, they slap together, hot smart of skin against skin, fingers pinching and scraping as they have the kind of dirty, roughhouse rutting that makes Simon's insides boil over with every chafe of his prick against Jayne's hairy belly.

"Gonna..." gulps Jayne and then he comes, hot and wet, inside Simon.

The salt stings him back to a semblance of reality, but before Simon has time to think clearly he's being dragged, tugged, pulled over until he has to cling to the edge of the table to stop himself from falling onto the floor.

"Do me," grunts the big man. "Want it. Want you to do it."

Simon shuffles off the table then drags Jayne backwards until he's resting prone, his upper body lying across the wooden surface and his feet on the floor. It's easier this way for first time intercourse. Shaking with excitement, he begins to fondle Jayne open with slow thrusts of his lubed fingers, fucking him with his hand, twisting and stretching and teasing the man until he's rubbing anxiously against him.

"Just do it, will you."

But Simon _knows_ that Jayne's not ready yet. He's waiting to feel that bone-deep tremble, waiting until that big cock fills with blood and bangs solid against the edge of the table. _Ye su_! He's so hard.

"Simon."

The vowels become drawn out with need and Simon could get addicted to hearing his name spoken this way. Jayne pushes up, bracing himself on the table, biceps bulging as he strokes himself off against anything everything he can gain purchase on. Simon feels him up with his free hand, cupping his balls and massages his ji ba then he withdraws his oiled up fingers and with a pump of his hips--fuck!--he's inside Jayne. "Fuck!" Jayne! Sweating and moaning beneath him. "Jayne!" Hot as fire and squeezing him so very tightly. "Fucking christ!" How is he going to be able to move without coming?

"Fuck." The word is spoken so softly, hardly more than a whisper. "_Tianna_."

Simon stills. "Too much?" he asks.

"No. Go on."

Jayne's louder now, vocal about exactly what he needs.

"Just there." "That's it, Doc." "Harder now, gorramit."

Relaxed now, Simon leans forward, trailing kisses over Jayne's back as he ruts into him, bringing himself to orgasm with a final hip juddering thrust.

"Gotta say you have a real filthy mouth for such a prissy feller." Jayne turns and shifts sideways, sprawled out and idly caressing his semi-erect cock.

Simon's in too much of a daze to answer. _Wo de ma_! He's just had dirty, messy sex on a kitchen table that was covered in blood, earth, brandy and vegetable peelings and, without doubt, it rates as his best fuck ever.


	8. Chapter 8

Their honeymoon--because that's exactly what it feels like--passes by surprisingly smoothly.

If anyone had asked Simon two months ago whether he'd be able to spend any length of time with Jayne without feeling the need to perform a frontal lobotomy on the man, he would have laughed them out of the room. But the truth is that they can and _do_ enjoy living together.

Simon's come to the conclusion that the reason he and Jayne got along so very badly on board Serenity had nothing to do with the carping of unrequited desire, but was, in fact, down to sheer boredom. Neither of them can abide having nothing to do and here in Gainsborough there's a whole new life that needs building, enough to keep two men occupied for a very long time. The telegraph machine lies, gathering dust, in the corner of the kitchen.

It's only three weeks since they've been marooned here and already Simon's a changed man. He's never felt so comfortable with his own body before… or someone else's for that matter. That late summer storm, which blew itself out just as quickly as it arrived, has left in its wake weather that's fresh and invigorating, although, thankfully, it's still hot enough for them to enjoy the outdoors. Simon busies himself fixing up their new home whilst Jayne does all the heavy jobs and also hunts game. However, in between all the work, they spend a lot of the time naked and have already managed to christen most parts of the farm.

When Simon finally revisits Gainsborough he can't believe the difference. Jayne's done a great job of clearing the streets and Simon's impressed at how appealing the small town looks -- on the surface at least. They burn the makeshift morgue to the ground and whilst Jayne watches over it, a hosepipe ready to douse any unwanted fires that may erupt, Simon gathers up supplies to take back home. By the time he's finished, the trailer is filled with a ton of electrical equipment and every book he can find on the subject of rewiring. Jayne's his usual teasing self, laughing hard at the determined look on Simon's face, but amusement soon turns to kisses and they end up fucking on Mayor J.T. Griffiths' bench right there in the main street.

Today, Simon's intending to finish the external work on the solar panels. They have just five drums of diesel left, enough to last them about four months, and not knowing how long or how cold the winter season will get, means that they have to be prepared for the worst. Simon refuses to consider what will happen if there's not enough sunlight to power the panels through the dark half of the year.

He's already set traps, catching a dozen or so big rats, and re-wired what needs fixing inside, but has been putting off the roof work for a while now. Positioning the rickety ladder against the wall, he checks his tool box for materials and the wiring scheme and is about to make a tentative climb up to the roof when Jayne yells at him from over by the paddock where he's fixing the fences.

"Wait now."

Simon's about to get annoyed at being treated like a girl when the big man adds, "I'll hold the ladder for you while you get up there."

Turning a half-circle, Simon rests one heel on the bottom rung and watches Jayne stroll towards him, all nut brown farmer's tan and shifting muscles, and he feels a tongue of desire unfurl inside his belly. He wants to fuck Jayne again. It's not something they do often, mostly just sucking and jerking each other to climax, but tonight he needs that big, handsome body spread out beneath him.

Jayne glances down at Simon's crotch then looks back up with a smile, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "You gotten the horn again, Doc?"

"Always," Simon answers and the word hitches in his throat as both pairs of pants come down and they reach for one other.

Leaning back against the ladder Simon lets Jayne go to work on him, hips pumping shamelessly as he rubs off a climax all over that big cock which, soon enough, is shooting right back at him.

Pulling his pants back up, he ignores the rivulets of semen trickling down his thighs. He likes the smell of sex all over him. The smell and the feel of Jayne.

"You certain your legs ain't too shaky to make it up to the roof?" Jayne leans in and nuzzles at his neck.

Threading his fingers into Jayne's hair Simon initiates a long drawn out kiss. "My _stick_ legs will be fine," he says with a slow smile, remembering Jayne's words from a lifetime ago.

"Not so stick like, nor as pasty as they were." Jayne squeezes Simon's muscles appraisingly. "Good and strong now."

Simon's fairly certain that he should hate these words. If he were female and Jayne was sizing him up in this way then it would be every kind of wrong, but he's not a girl and this is far from a normal situation and here he's allowed to enjoy the approval. A new world to live in means new rules to live by.

As Simon picks up the tool box and begins to climb the ladder, Jayne rests his foot on the bottom rung and holds the side struts. "Be careful now," he says, dropping a kiss onto the exposed strip of skin just above the waistband of Simon's pants.

"I will. You get on with what you were doing. I don't think this'll be too difficult."

Once again Simon is proved wrong. It's a lot higher than he imagined it would feel and having rested the tool box in the guttering, he tentatively slithers up the roof, using one of the solar panels as a hand rail. Finding a safe place to rest, he reaches for his wiring scheme and with a screwdriver, opens up the casing.

It doesn't look complicated. Part of the cabling exposed to the elements has been eroded and all he has to do is to excise the wires and replace them. It's all going smoothly until he receives a small shock from one of the capacitors which throws him off balance and sends him skidding down the tiles, desperately scrabbling for purchase.

Flying backwards off a roof is not something Simon ever wants to repeat. With adrenaline coursing through him he manages to grab hold of the guttering and wrap one foot around the ladder.

"Jayne," he shouts. "_Jayne_!"

Footsteps come running at fast pace across the yard.

"_Aiya_, Doc! What the fuck are you doing?"

What does it _look_ like he's doing? "Preparing to fall off this roof," explains Simon breathlessly. "You can jump in and spoil my fun anytime you want." The banter doesn't mean that he isn't terrified; it's just his way of dealing with stress. As his aching fingers begin to sweat he does a quick estimation of the injuries he's likely to receive from falling onto the flagstones below and it's not a pretty story. He can't hold on much longer. "Jayne!"

"I got you."

One strong arm leans out and grabs hold of him, hauling him in like a thrashing fish on the line and as both his feet make contact with the wooden rungs he remembers that breathing is a useful way of keeping the body alive.

"The good news is the solar panels are working," he pants.

"Fuck the power," says Jayne as he descends the ladder keeping as close to Simon as possible all the way down. "Gorramit, are you _trying_ to get dead?"

Simon laughs shakily because for the first time in years he actually cares enough to want to live. "No. I'm trying to make certain we'll both stay alive."

"We'll be okay," says Jayne on solid ground now and waiting for Simon to take the last few steps. "We'll _be_ okay." His lips press quickly against the back of Simon's neck.

Shivers tumble down Simon's spine and as his feet make contact with the flagstones he leans against the ladder, clinging tightly to it.

"You got good reason to be stuck to that piece of wood?" asks Jayne when minutes pass by and Simon's still hanging on to the struts.

Simon turns, resting his butt on a rung. He's feeling calmer now, more like himself. "I love this ladder," he says. "I had great sex up against it and then it saved my life."

"Could be that I had something to do with both of them things." Jayne leans in, resting his face up against Simon's neck.

"Could be."

They remain still, leeching comfort from the contact until Simon glances up at the sky and sees layers of dark clouds building to the east. Pushing Jayne gently away he turns to go back up the ladder.

"What, in the name of rutting hell, d'you think you're doing?"

"I have to fix the casing in place before it rains," Simon explains, looking around the yard for his screwdriver. Unable to see it anywhere he decides it must have rolled into the guttering.

"The fuck you do." Jayne makes a grab for the waistband of Simon's pants, but Simon's too quick and darts away from him up the ladder.

"It's not difficult. It'll take five minutes at the most," he says, trying his utmost to ignore how similar his words are when compared to the first, disastrous time he attempted this job.

There's concerned anger wafting in waves off the big man and Simon understands. It's not as if he's particularly thrilled at the idea of clambering about on the roof again, but this has to be done and he's the only one who knows what to do.

"I ain't happy 'bout this," growls Jayne and when Simon glances down he sees that the mercenary has set up camp at the base with his foot on the lowest rung and his eyes fixed upwards. "And this time I'm staying right here 'til you're done."

Simon's not going to argue. Tentatively he begins the climb; his legs are wobbly and he can feel fear welling in the pit of his stomach, but he's not about to give in. Neither River nor Jayne know the meaning of the word 'defeat' and from now on he's going to attempt to be more like them.

Just as he surmised, the screwdriver is resting in the half pipe and, reaching for it, he sprawls over the roof tiles, anchoring himself into the safest possible position before slipping the casing into place. Once the screws are tightly fixed he collects the tool box and heads back down the ladder, his head spinning from the enormity of how good it feels to achieve something useful.

"All done," he says, stepping onto the flagstones and enjoying the feel of Jayne close up against him, warm breath dampening his skin.

"Should hope so. Had enough of rescuing you. Can you at least try and stay in one piece from now on?"

*

After a good supper and a full hour spent relaxing in the tub, Simon comes down to the kitchen to find that Jayne has the telegraph machine in pieces.

Just the sight of it sends him into a blind panic. "There's no point," he says morosely, resting his butt on the edge of the table and idly flicking at one of the screws until it spins away across the surface. "As far as I've been able to find out no one uses high frequency any longer."

"Just 'cause it ain't written about in books don't mean a thing." Jayne looks up at him. "Think about some of the gorram antique parts Kaylee makes use of on Serenity."

Simon's punched in the guts by the revelation that he doesn't want to think about the Firefly ever again: that he doesn't want things to change. "No one's looking for us," he says, reaching out and tracing the line of Jayne's jaw with his finger. "As far as they're concerned we're dead." Why not let it stay that way.

"We got nothing here." Jayne stares down at the mess of wires and keys. "If you'd've fell off that roof then there ain't no one or no place to fix you up." He looks up. "I lived like that, remember? I had to look after sick kinfolk with no hospitals and doctors there to help. It weren't fun."

"But you managed," says Simon. "And you made it your home."

"And I got off that rock soonest I could. If'n I can't get this thing working then we head to Hartford and see what's to be had there."

Jayne's as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be and even though Simon knows that the telegraph machine is unlikely ever to work, he's filled with a sudden desperation to distract the man.

"Hartford is way over the other side of the mountains." Slipping to his knees he unbuckles the belt of Jayne's combat pants, unfastening the catch and sliding down the zipper.

"Doc, we gotta-"

But whatever Jayne thinks they have to do is forgotten the moment Simon begins a gentle blow job, sucking on the head of Jayne's _ji ba_ and feeling it swell and leak against his tongue. The tables have turned again. Not so long ago it was Jayne persuading him that everything was going to be alright. Now he's the one trying to keep them here. This is a _feng le_ situation alright, downright insane, but Simon has the chance of a lifetime spent with a man he's starting to care deeply about and he isn't about to let it go.

Fully hard now, telegraph machine long forgotten, Jayne cards the fingers of one hand through Simon's hair and masturbates with the other. "Gotta have you," he groans, promptly getting to his feet and hauling Simon over his shoulder. Holding onto his pants with one hand he stumbles out into the hallway and up the stairs.

Simon's head thumps repeatedly against the wall of the stairwell, but he doesn't care. He had intended to top Jayne tonight, but that's unlikely to happen the mood the big man's in and, to be honest, it excites Simon to see him this way. Jayne has been less than sure of himself as far as their sex has gone and Simon's partly convinced that he still feels as if he's the object of revulsion. It's not surprising, their history least likely of any couple to indicate a future as lovers, but lovers they are, good ones at that, and as he's thrown down onto the bed Simon discovers that the seed of happiness inside him is growing into something much bigger.

"Fuck," he says, struggling to get out of his clothes. "_Wo yu wang ni. Ji tai yin jing nei wo._"


	9. Chapter 9

Fall turns to winter more quickly than either of them expect. Luckily the freezer in the boiler room is stocked with meat and the shelves are lined with most of the remaining items from the stores in town. The solar panels work well and there are still a few drums of diesel left for the generator. Simon's getting used to the blisters from chopping wood and his calloused hands, complete with scars and locked knuckle joint, are no longer a thing he thinks about -- except when his bones ache during too much sex play.

"Told you we should've gone to Hartford," says Jayne ruefully as he comes in from outside, slamming the door behind him and brushing a dusting of snow from his shoulders. "There ain't much left in town that's of any use to us."

"It's snowing?" says Simon, touching the flakes in wonder. He's been skiing plenty of times at the Sekhmet ice center just outside Capital City, but that was just an artificial coating of white that was cold and damp that could never be described as magical. He's in love with the natural weather environment on this planetoid.

"You seen it before," says Jayne, shucking off his wet jacket and hanging it over a chair in front of the range.

"I've seen it, yes…" He's visited a lot of places since he's been a part of Mal Reynolds' crew--cold ones, arid ones, waterlogged ones--but there's usually been danger attached and a plan to steal something going horribly wrong. He's never had time to sit back and enjoy the seasons.

"But it's not been _your_ snow, eh?" Jayne smiles and Simon feels a little stupid and, at the same time, somewhat gratified that the man is beginning to know him so well.

Gainsborough is theirs, Love Knot Farm is theirs and Simon likes it this way. Standing looking out of the window with Jayne pressed up close against his back, those big arms encircling him, he watches the flakes fall in light flurries from the sky and has never felt as safe and content as he does now.

*

Five days later, when the storm hits them full on, Simon's feelings alter dramatically.

"Never felt winds like it. Nor seen snow that thick neither," says Jayne, throwing his shovel down and stamping his boots clean.

Simon pours coffee from the percolator and adds a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of brandy to the mugs. They've both been working hard to try and keep the farmhouse in one piece, but Jayne has been especially determined not to let them become buried alive. The temperature outside is well below freezing during the day and far worse when darkness falls. Some nights they've had to sleep in the kitchen to make use of the warmth from the range and ensure that it's kept stoked. They huddle up like animals under a weight of blankets and it's a comfort to feel that cock pushing into him because only then can Simon forget what's happening outside. Jayne is his panacea.

Just as they think the worst is over, a new weather system lashes in across the mountains--this one 'the owner of a fine pair of balls,' as Jayne puts it--hitting them with a vengeance. Tornado force winds batter the area, bringing down a tree, a branch of which smashes through the windows of the living room.

"You board up from inside," says Jayne. "I'll go check for any other damage then see to mending the shutters and the frame."

"Let the storm blow itself out first," insists Simon when the snow-coated mercenary returns with tools, nails and a stack of wooden planks.

"We don't know how long it's going to last or how much colder it'll get." Jayne brushes the crusted ice off his beard. "If'n all the heat in the house escapes through a gorram hole in the wall then we're humped."

Simon has to agree. He also knows that Jayne's better at carpentry than he is and has the physique to withstand this weather.

"Be careful," he says. "No thrilling heroics."

"You're the crazy one does all that kind of _gou shi_." Jayne grazes his lips over Simon's. "Since we got here anyways."

"Not anymore." Simon shakes his head. "From now on we'll both be as boring as hell."

"Sounds good to me." Jayne grins then pulls the hood over his head and fastens the jacket zipper until there's nothing visible but his nose and a hint of beard. "See you later, Doc."

Simon has to use all his body weight to close the door behind Jayne. Wrapping up warmly, he carries the wood and tools through to the living room, which has become a howling maelstrom of wind and snow, and, after sawing up the branch, he hauls logs clear of the broken glass then turns his attentions to the smashed window. Boarding it up should be a two person job under these circumstances and it takes him a while to find a successful method of holding the planks in place. In the end, he resorts to using his hip as a brace and with his backside growing colder and colder as the icy wetness hits it sideways on, he finally manages to hammer in the nails and secure one of the windows. God alone knows how long it's taken him to get this far. God alone knows where Jayne is. He hasn't seen a glimpse of the man anywhere, the faint sound of a chainsaw the only evidence that he's still labouring away outside.

Simon's about to start work on the second window when an icebound figure looms in at him from the blizzard, a peek of bluish grey skin visible beneath the overhang of the hood telling Simon that Jayne's way too cold. "You have to come inside now," he yells, trying to make his voice heard over the howl of the wind.

Jayne shakes his head, as stubborn as ever, and begins to refit one of the shutters back onto its hinges. "Ain't got much more to do," he replies. "Just gotta nail these up tight and then fetch some more firewood." A minute later Jayne's done with the shutters and the room is swathed in darkness.

"Damn that man," Simon mutters.

After boarding up the second window he collects the broken glass and places it carefully in a crate, but as soon as the living room is cleared of debris, worry takes over and he paces relentlessly across the kitchen floor, staring at the clock. The minutes tick painfully by and, becoming ever more concerned, he opens the back door, peering out at the smothering whiteout of snow. "_Jayne_?"

The light is diminishing rapidly. When night falls the temperature will slip to dangerous levels and Simon knows that if either of them are outside when that happens then the chances are they won't make it back. Putting sweater and jacket back on, he pulls on a pair of gloves then takes a flashlight from the windowsill. The door swings wildly on its hinges powered by a terrifying gust of wind which knocks Simon to the floor. Some rescuer he's turning out to be, coming a cropper at the first hurdle.

Two strides into the yard, Simon looks around him in panic. This comfortable new world of his is completely unrecognisable, the blizzard so thick that even this close up he can barely make out the dark shape of the house.

"Jayne, where are you?"

Moving the beam of the flashlight in a slow arc, he takes another couple of steps forward in what he hopes is the direction of the wood store.

"Jayne!" he calls. "Where the fuck are you, you gorram, ignorant _guo cao de hundan_?"

"'M here," comes a voice. "Quit wasting energy with all that cussing and help me haul this wood back to the house. My fingers are too gorram froze to feel a thing."

Simon's never felt such relief in his life and has to rest his gloved hands on Jayne's shoulders just to prove to himself that this is no mirage.

"Get your butt into gear, Doc," snaps Jayne and Simon knows things are serious when there's no 'pretty' attached to the word, 'butt.'

Taking one handle of the large container, he helps Jayne heave it across the snow, using his flashlight to try and pick out the shape of the farmhouse amidst the dense flurry of flakes. Making slow but steady progress they eventually reach home and, once inside, Jayne drags the loaded bucket over the threshold then stumbles over to the range and huddles down in front of it.

Simon secures the bolts and takes off his outer layer of clothing then focuses on Jayne, who's become a shivering heap, crumpled on the floor.

"Come on," he says. "You need to get out of those wet things."

When Jayne ignores him, Simon forces the big man over into his back and with a pile of bedding at the ready, begins to undress him. "The problem with you is that you never listen to advice. I told you it was too cold out there."

"Had to get…" Jayne's words dissolve into a spasm of shivers as Simon divests him of his shirt and pants and wraps him up in a warm blanket. "Had to get the genny fueled up and-"

"You _had_ to do nothing, Jayne, you just wanted to be a martyr." Simon checks Jayne's hands and feet for signs of frostbite of which, thankfully, there are none. "Even after you promised me, you still chose to go play the invincible hero."

Jayne's eyes have the power to fluctuate rapidly between winter and summer. Right now they're soft and forlorn. "Storm could last for weeks," he mutters.

"And it might be over in a matter of hours -- you don't know." Simon gets to his feet. "I'll fetch some clothes." He doesn't see the point of any further talk. It's only winding him up as tightly as a spring from an antique clock -- the kind his father used to collect as an investment.

The upstairs of the house is so cold that there are icicles hanging off the inside of the windowsill in their bedroom. Quickly changing into some dry pants, he grabs sweats and socks from the drawers then races back down to the warmth of the kitchen.

When he returns Jayne is sitting in one of the chairs wrapped in a couple of blankets with this hangdog expression on his face. "I just wanted to get things done while I was out there," he says. "Didn't reckon on it taking so long."

"It would've taken far less time with two of us sharing the workload." Simon hands Jayne the pile of clothes and sets about making some tea, trying to ignore the alarming gusts of wind which are battering the building ruthlessly.

"Thanks." Jayne unfurls the blanket like wings. "And you're right," he adds as he slowly, painfully stretches out his limbs and begins to get dressed. "I'm good at being a dumb ol' sumbitch."

Normally the sight of Jayne naked has Simon springing to full erection in a matter of seconds, but today he's far too worked up to even think about sex. "We'll have to sleep down here again tonight," he says. "The temperature's dropping like a stone. The upstairs is a gorram meat locker."

 

After stoking the fire into a roaring furnace, he then shifts the table to the left and drags the mattress over from where it's been propped against the wall. Sleeping on the floor probably isn't the best idea with all these drafts, but the wood-burner is the one thing that's keeping them on the right side of hypothermia. Draping a comforter over the bare ticking, he then pours two mugs of tea and then shakes Jayne out of the semi-doze he's fallen into. "Drink up and then bed," he says, sounding more like a parent than a lover.

Jayne sips his tea, wincing as the hot liquid scalds his lips. "Don't fuss over me, gorramit."

He's putting on an act and trying to sound like himself, but Simon can tell how drained the man is feeling from that muted tone of voice. "Nothing else to do but sleep," he responds gently. "We're both exhausted and at least then we can turn the lights off and save power."

Jayne finishes his drink. "You're always so rutting logical."

"And persuasive I hope." Simon collects blankets, pillows and a second comforter from the pile in the corner and makes up their temporary bed. "Do you need help getting to the bathroom?"

"I'm cold, not crippled," Jayne retorts, but still the mercenary stares dubiously at the door that leads through to the icy hallway. "I'll be okay for now," he adds. "If'n I need to piss I can always do it in the sink."

Simon's about to debate the negative hygiene aspects of this when he spots a mischievous twinkle in Jayne's eyes. "Piss where you like," he says sunnily. "As long as it's not on my side of the bed."

"I swear you're no rutting fun anymore," grumbles Jayne as he flops down onto the mattress, pulling the many layers of covers over him.

"Not such an easy mark as I once was, eh?" Simon smiles as he tidies the kitchen, relieved that Jayne's feeling restored enough to be in the mood for some teasing.

"Like I said, no rutting fun." Jayne's voice diminishes to a low, sleepy rumble.

Pulling on a thick-knit sweater and a jacket Simon ventures into the colder parts of the farmhouse, turning out lights and automatically checking that the doors are locked. After ensuring that everything is secured for the night, he goes up to the bathroom, using the toilet then washing as quickly as he can manage.

It's a relief to abandon the freezing second floor and return to the relative comfort of the kitchen. Leaving one safety lamp burning Simon toes off his shoes then slides into bed, trying not to disturb Jayne as he pulls the quilt tightly around them both.

*

They wake to a world that's whiter and colder than ever. The storm force winds have lessened, but flakes still tumble from the iron sky, clumps of snow falling thick and silent, adhering themselves to everything they touch.

Leaving Jayne to sleep in, Simon hurriedly swaps sweats for army pants and outdoor gear then opens the back door rather tentatively. A wall of snow, four feet high, is blocking his way and, taking the shovel that's leaning against the dresser, Simon puts on his boots and then begins to dig a path through the drift. Once the snow around both entrances is cleared, he returns to the kitchen to find Jayne stoking the range with a blanket wrapped tightly around him.

"So gorram cold," he shivers. "Wish the rutting heating was working better."

Simon touches the radiant pipes which are supposed to diffuse warmth throughout the house and discovers that they're far from hot. The system is so old and inefficient that it hardly raises the temperature more than a couple of degrees. "After breakfast I'll run a bath," he says. "That'll help warm you up."

The only answer Jayne gives is a loud sneeze.

"Sounds like you may have caught a cold," says Simon, placing a hand on Jayne's forehead. "You shouldn't have stayed out for so long yesterday."

"I ain't never sick," growls Jayne then he sneezes twice more in quick succession. "And don't start preaching at me again."

After twenty four hours have passed, the thermometer tells Simon that Jayne's cold is settling in as heavily as the snow outside. The mercenary tries to fight it for a while, but by evening time he's laid up in their makeshift bed with blankets wrapped around him and a fine sheen of sweat dusting his forehead. Simon feeds Jayne aspirin and listens to his chest with a stethoscope, hoping to god that infection won't set in. The last of the antibiotics were used up a month ago when he got injured on some buried razor wire while out hunting.

Crawling under the covers, Simon's lips hover over burning hot skin and he breathes in that sweet, rank smell of illness.

"You best stay away from me." Jayne's voice grates like rusted metal.

Simon kisses him on the mouth and it tastes of iron. "Can't ever do that," he says helplessly.

*

As Jayne gets sicker, Simon's fear grows at an exponential rate. Once upon a time he'd thought that being scared was having to wear a spacesuit and hang like a monkey off the outside of Serenity. It was seeing River in her full glory as an Alliance weapon, or being chased through an endless labyrinth of tunnels by a pack of snarling Reavers. It turns out, however, that true terror is the thought of being left alone here without Jayne.

"This should make your throat feel better," he says, propping the mercenary up against him and spooning home-made linctus into his half-open mouth. The cup spills onto the floor as Jayne is racked by another paroxysm of coughing. Simon holds a wad of tissue in front of the man's mouth, refusing to acknowledge the streaks of dark red in the mucus. Throwing the handkerchief into the trash can, Simon cleans up the mess, washes his hands then makes another concoction consisting of powdered orange juice, crushed aspirin and honey.

"Has the snow stopped?" Jayne's voice is hoarse and weak from too much coughing. He lolls bonelessly on a stack of pillows the way he used to after sex, but this is a different kind of exhaustion -- a deep-seated listlessness that's a million miles from the Jayne Cobb that Simon knows.

"No. It's still falling, but not quite as heavy as before." Simon dilutes the syrup with warm water and squats down next to his patient, cup in hand. "Drink as much of this as you can. You need to keep hydrated."

"If I _hydrate_ too much then I'll have to go pee and I ain't fond of that."

Simon tries to dredge up a smile. "Stop arguing and just drink it." Natural remedies are all he has left. He's becoming more of a shaman than a physician. Soon he'll be asking the ghosts of his ancestors for help -- not such a bad idea seeing as his maternal grandfather was renowned in the field of medical research.

Jayne restrains another coughing fit long enough to swallow the liquid. "Rutting foul stuff," he grimaces, wiping his mouth in disgust.

"You're a difficult patient."

"Ain't used to being sick."

Simon rests a hand on Jayne's brow which is clammy from fever, noting, with more than a little worry, the bluish tinge to Jayne's skin. "Go back to sleep and let the aspirin do their work."

"'M feeling better already," lies Jayne.

*

Pneumonia is common. The majority of patients, even the young and elderly, recover successfully so a big, fit soldier should have no trouble fighting it off. However once the thermometer closes in on the hundred and three mark, Simon knows that Jayne is in deep trouble. Pulling the blankets off the man, he undresses him and cools him off with strips of terrycloth soaked in melted snow. Jayne looks up at him with confused eyes and begs in a pain-racked voice, "No, Ma, don't. I hurt bad."

Simon ransacks every drawer, those wheezing pleas ringing inside his head. There's got to be an antibiotic somewhere in this farmhouse. If Jayne doesn't get some soon then he could likely die from this bout of illness. The hunt proves fruitless and Simon is left with a terrifying choice to make. He can kit up in cold weather gear and trek to Gainsborough where he might be lucky and find some penicillin, but that means leaving Jayne alone to fend for himself. The only alternative is to stay here and watch his patient, his _lover_ get progressively worse.

The decision is such an impossible one to make that Simon feels sick to his stomach at the enormity of it. Putting things off for the moment he returns to the kitchen, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible so as not to disturb Jayne.

The man is sleeping a little more peacefully now, but his breathing is laboured and his skin has even more of that cyanotic tinge to it which means he's not getting enough oxygen into his body. Simon's mind is made up. Tomorrow at first light he'll brave the wintry conditions and fight his way to town in order to pillage whatever meds he can find.

Too nauseous to _want_ to eat, he thinks of the journey that lies ahead of him and does the sensible thing, opening a large can of chicken noodle soup then pouring it into a pan and placing it on the burner. While he's waiting for it to heat he lifts the telegraph machine onto the table and takes a quick look at its broken components and eroded circuitry. He understands Jayne's fears now. They can't stay on this rock forever. This is far from the idyll he once imagined it to be.


	10. Chapter 10

Another sleepless night spent coping with Jayne's raging delirium is almost too much to bear and by dawn Simon is packed and ready to make the journey, leaving a barely lucid Jayne with a large flask of soup, a smaller one of linctus and the last remaining bottle of aspirin.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," he says, sweeping the damp tendrils away from the man's forehead.

"You're the one-" Jayne gives in to another coughing fit. "You're the one going outside. I'm just-" He coughs again. "Laying here by the fire."

"Taking it easy as usual." Simon manages a vapid smile as he checks Jayne's blood pressure and temperature and feeds him a couple of pain killers washed down with some honey tea. "Bedpan's down by your right and there's a stack of firewood in the basket. Whatever you do don't let the range go out."

"I'll try."

"You'll do better than that." Simon presses his lips against dark wavy hair, breathing in sweat and sickness and something inherently 'Jayne' that makes him long to stay right where he is.

That gentle kiss is as much of an emotional goodbye as he can manage and pulling on a second pair of warmed thermal socks he pushes his feet into his army boots, doing the laces up as tightly as he can. With one extra sweater added at the last second he struggles to zip up the large waterproof hunting jacket that's way too big for him under normal circumstances, then tops his outfit off with a knitted hat, gloves and scarf.

"You're getting fat, Doc," wheezes Jayne, amusement momentarily lighting up his face.

"You're a one to talk, big guy." Simon just about manages to lean over without toppling and rubs a palm over the man's belly then sliding that hand upwards he squeezes Jayne's shoulder. That simple gesture always comforted him during the worst of times and he hopes that it'll do the same for the mercenary. "I'll see you," he says, picking up his heavily laden pack and opening the backdoor. If there's a reply forthcoming there's no way he'll ever hear it with the wind howling and the snow blowing in his face.

Slamming the door shut and checking that it's properly closed with the toe of a boot, Simon sets off in the direction of the track. At first he thinks he's walking through a drift, but every step is as hard as the last and finally it dawns on him that the laying snow is at least two and a half feet deep. It's going to take him an age to get to Gainsborough.

As he climbs the five bar gate and begins a slow trek, his mind wanders off on its own journey. He's thought so little about River since he's been here, pushing his vulnerable sister to the far recesses of his brain in order to stop himself from going mad with worry, but now that he's alone in this whiteout world he can't stop his imagination from working overtime. She's a lot better than she used to be and she knows which medications she needs to take on a regular basis to keep that stability intact. But suppose something goes wrong and she has a relapse? No one on the crew will know what to do. In fact the 'death' of her brother might well have been enough to push her over the edge.

Simon can't reflect on River any longer and he certainly can't bear to think of Jayne lying on the floor of that cold kitchen, slowly drowning in his own internal fluid. Instead he runs through mental lists of the medications which would be the most helpful. Intravenous antibiotics would be best but it's unlikely he'll find any of those seeing as he and Jayne burned the mall to the ground last month. His only hope is that the former occupants of the town have some leftover pills in their medicine cabinet. Simon hates the idea of ransacking dead people's houses--not that they'll care one way or another--but he'll do whatever he has to in order to keep Jayne alive.

The force of the wind is so strong it knocks him off his feet and he tumbles into a drift at the side of the track. Dragging himself to his feet, he unsheathes his knife and reaches for one of the overhanging branches, cutting it down and stripping off the twigs to make himself a sturdy walking stick. It helps a little, at very least keeping him standing, and as he continues on his journey Simon indulges in some positive self reflection. He and Jayne are different people now and, in Simon's opinion, it's a definite change for the better. He likes the new person he's become: more confident, more physical, far more relaxed. He likes the new Jayne even more. The man can still be uncouth and stubborn, but lurking beneath that thorny surface is a compassionate side which has thrown Simon completely. He doesn't _want_ to fall in love with Jayne Cobb and yet he thinks it's inevitable. He's also pretty certain that the mercenary feels the same way about him. But suppose none of these emotions are real and it turns out that what they're both feeling is dependency rather than love. This is a sobering thought.

Stopping several times to huddle against tree trunks and sip warm soup from his flask, Simon eventually makes it to the outskirts of Gainsborough. He has no idea what the time is. Both he and Jayne picked up watches from the small mercantile, but neither of them ever bother to wear them. What does time matter when you have so much of it at hand? This makes him think about the tick-tick-ticking of Jayne's speeding heart beat and he lets out a howl of despair, the anguished sound coming as a shock to his own ears.

Gainsborough is unrecognisable: a wintry world from some long lost children's story. Luckily Simon has made a hundred visits to the place and isn't fooled by the glittering icicles and the untouched drifts of snow. He knows his way around.

The main area of habitation is to the south east side of town and Simon's relieved that he doesn't have to walk too much further. The muscles in his legs are seizing with the effort of walking through the thigh deep snow and he's not certain how much further he can make it without succumbing to hypothermia. Why didn't he think to pick up that damn watch? He needs to get back to Jayne before darkness falls and the days are very short at present.

Kicking open the door of a small one storey building, he barricades the entrance to keep as much of that vicious cold out as possible and then sets to, systematically ransacking the house. The living rooms contain nothing of worth. Whoever owned the house was an obsessive collector of kitsch trinkets and Simon clears the ornaments from the dresser with a frustrated sweep of his arm. The kitchen stinks from the remains of rotting food and a suspicious scratching noise tells Simon to keep well clear. He braves the filthy bathroom only to discover that the cabinet is empty of everything but hair colourant and a few tubes of unsavoury medication and he leaves the house immediately.

The next place is cleaner; however the telltale spatters of old blood convince Simon he doesn't want to hang around too long. The bathroom is spotless apart from a network of cobwebs and spiders, but the cabinet yields nothing and neither do either of the nightstands or drawers in the bedroom dresser.

Feeling more like a burglar than a desperate survivor, he breaks into four more residences, searching them thoroughly only to discover that again there's nothing useful contained within their walls, other than surgical tape and lint dressings.

Simon battles his way to yet another house, this one closer to town and far more impressive than the rest. Set back from the street it's surrounded by a large, walled yard and guarded by a pair of ornate iron gates which creak as they push insistently against the heaped up drifts. The main doors of the mansion are ajar, one of them hanging half off its hinges, a result of being left open during the storm force winds which have battered the town. Entering the entrance hall, Simon can just about make out an expanse of black and white marble tiles covered by an inch or so of snow. He hefts the doors back into a closed position, sliding the heavy duty bolts into their housings, then looks around the house, slightly awestruck at finding such a lavishly decorated place in a town the size of Gainsborough.

Simon's obviously not the first uninvited visitor to the place; whether it was Reavers or Jayne who've wreaked havoc here he's not entirely sure. Most of the antique furniture has been turned to splinters, the drapes puddle limply on the floor and a flurry of soggy paperwork indicates that this house belongs to Mayor Griffiths. Simon is starting to feel a bond of familiarity with this man despite never having laid eyes on him.

"Is that you?" he says, staring at a skewiff portrait hung above the fireplace. Bespectacled and shrewish, the subject peers myopically out from the frame, far from the rugged outdoors type Simon had imagined. To the man's right is a much younger woman, plain yet strangely appealing with pale blue eyes and a dreamy expression on her plump face. The mayor has his arm curled possessively around her waist and this, in conjunction with the large diamond that's weighing down her left hand, leads Simon to believe that she must be his wife. They're an odd looking couple, but certainly no odder than he and Jayne.

Thoughts of his ill lover focus Simon's concentration and he begins a thorough search of the house. The downstairs is a mess. There are signs of a violent struggle having taken place in the study, a wall safe is blown open and its contents removed, but once he reaches the second floor he discovers that the rooms appear untouched. Unimpressed by the elaborate antiques on display, the Reavers were obviously happy to walk away with a supply of so called food and whatever was contained in that lockbox.

The master suite is palatial. A four poster bed draped with deep blue brocade lies centrally in the room and a fire is laid ready in the grate, yet despite this luxury the room feels bleak. Simon hurriedly searches every nook and cranny, certain that a rich man would have some medication stashed somewhere, but unfortunately this isn't the case. The place is devoid of everything, including personality.

At the other end of the long corridor Simon discovers another lavish room. Mistress to the master, this one is homelier with a more lived in feel to it. Teeth chattering and the onset of hypothermia close at hand, Simon takes wood from the basket and lays a rough and ready fire in the grate, lighting it with trembling fingers. As the flame catches hold and smoke fills the room, Simon opens the flue and then remains crouched by the hearth, clutching Jayne's lighter to his chest like a talisman.

There's still some soup left in the flask and having swilled down the warm liquid Simon begins to feel slightly restored and he tinkers with the ornaments that decorate the fireplace. Whilst he's doing this he notices that one of the tiles is slightly out of place. Prizing it free with the tip of his knife he discovers a carved out niche containing a bundle of papers.

It's ironic, it really is. Simon stares in amazement at the pile of federal bank drafts in his hand, knowing that if fenced off wisely they'd be worth a small fortune to the crew of Serenity. Right now their value to him is zero, but regardless of this he stows them safely into one of the pockets of his backpack.

Along with the checks is a pile of letters bound with an elastic band. Scanning through them quickly, Simon deduces that Mrs Griffiths had been involved in a long lasting love affair with the town's federal official who had been embezzling funds from his own bank in order for them to be able to leave Gainsborough. How close had they come to escaping, wonders Simon.

One by one he burns their correspondence, reading with utter sorrow the final few letters which talk of a longed for baby and the desperate need to find passage away from this desolate place. Maybe that was when her lover sent her the bankers' drafts. Throwing the final piece of foolscap onto the fire, Simon thinks about the sadness contained in this household; peoples' lives interwoven and on the brink of change only to be ruthlessly destroyed by Reavers at the last minute. It's a heartbreaking story.

Georgia Griffiths' bathroom is filled with a display of perfume bottles and personal items and luckily her medicine cabinet turns out to be the treasure chest Simon has been looking for. Feverishly hunting though the bottles and vials, he finds half a dozen pill pots containing varying amounts of the same general penicillin and can't resist making this whoop of delight as he transfers every useful medication into a pocket of his bag.

"Thank you," he says, his voice a respectful murmur and as he restacks the containers onto the shelves he notices an array of fertility drugs amongst them. She must have been so happy to have finally conceived a child with someone she loved. Poor deluded woman.

Anxious to get back to the farm, Simon pulls on his gloves and hat then skids down the stairs and races out of the double doors, glad to be away from the miserable aura of a loveless, hopeless marriage that had ended in a cannibalistic massacre. Being here has made him realise exactly how much he has to lose.

The sky is darkening noticeably and uncertain whether this is due to a storm coming in the onset of night, Simon wraps his outer clothing tightly around him and heads out into the street. Disorientated for a moment, he takes a left turn towards town and it's only when passing the portico of the library that he notices he's gone wrong.

Angry with himself for this stupid mistake, Simon retraces his steps which are almost impossible to pick out now that the snow is falling ever more heavily. On the verge of a panic attack he stops and breathes deeply, knowing that if he doesn't pull himself together then Jayne has no chance of survival. Another decision has to be made. Would it be best to lay up here until morning or should he make the return journey now? Truly, it's a no brainer. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't do everything possible to get back to Jayne, even if that isn't the more rational of the two choices.

It's then that common sense prevails and he remembers seeing a selection of sporting goods at the mercantile. If bad winters are common in Gainsborough then they're bound to have skis. The store is only a couple of hundred yards out of his way and, charging down the street as fast as he can manage, he shoulder barges his way through the frozen door.

Thankfully he's proved right when, in an out of the way corner of the store, he spots a rack loaded with winter sports equipment. On the point of falling to his knees with relief, he hurriedly fits himself with boots then slips some thermal packs inside his jacket and sleeves for warmth. Stuffing a few extra heating packs into his bag he then stomps his way outside carrying skis and poles under his arm. He hasn't attempted this for years and even then it was only racing down an artificial slope. This is going to be a very different proposition.

It takes a while to get the hang of skiing on the flat, but eventually he finds his rhythm and begins to cover the ground far more quickly than he had been before. Crossing the town boundary, Simon heads eastwards up the track and as the final remnants of daylight meld with the falling snow, visibility diminishes to almost nothing.

Jayne's mentioned a few times that there are wolves living in the surrounding forest and yet Simon's never heard the baying until today. The howls echo amongst the trees, eerie and baleful, and he increases his pace, singing songs inside his head and making up lyrics that have long been forgotten. He hasn't been in the mood for listening to music for many years.

Dusk turns inescapably to night and, as expected, the temperature drops like a stone. Coming to a sudden stop, Simon takes off his backpack, reaching inside for the last of the heating packs then snapping them and sliding them inside his clothing. Transferring his pistol to a jacket pocket he wedges a flashlight precariously into the bindings of his left cuff and continues up the narrow track, dragging himself along by means of his ski poles.

No longer able to feel his feet, Simon struggles to keep going. There's an insidious voice inside his head which tells him that he'd feel so much better if he just stopped and napped for a while. He's so exhausted that it's a strong temptation to do exactly as that internal enemy suggests and in the end he's not certain whether it's thoughts of Jayne or fear of the approaching wolf pack that keeps him moving.

Just as he becomes certain that he's never going to make it back to the farm, he stumbles into that old five bar gate. "Thank god," he says, his breath turning to ice crystals in the freezing cold. "Not far now. Come on."

Every movement of his legs is agony. "Jayne," he says as he forces himself onwards. "Please be alive." It's part prayer, part sob and repeating the words over and over, he slides his skis across the icy ground and makes a final push for home.

He's not aware that he's reached the building until he collides with a brick wall. The lights aren't on and this pushes Simon to the furthest edge of panic. "Jayne." The handle is iced up and he rattles it helplessly, desperation turning to anger and then to terror. "_Jayne_."

Using every ounce of his less-than-substantial weight, Simon forces the door open and tumbles inside on an avalanche of snow. The warmth hits him like a wall of summer sun and for a moment he lies there, unable to move, unable to _think_, stunned at having made it back in one piece. Eventually he comes around enough to shovel snow outside and slam the door closed, then with an attack of shivers hitting him like a convulsion, he crawls through the darkness towards the makeshift bed at the far end of the room.

"Jayne?" Please, god let the man be okay. The silence petrifies Simon, stopping him dead in his tracks when he thinks of what it will feel like to reach out for that warm, solid body and feel nothing but ice. He can't do this alone. He's done.


	11. Chapter 11

Salt water burning his eyes, Simon focuses the beam of the flashlight onto the mattress and reaches out to touch the mound of bedding. Jayne is buried in comforters and blankets and he's warm, _hot_, too hot to touch, but he's alive. Thank god, he's alive.

"Doc?"

Jayne's voice rasps painfully, throat dry and swollen from coughing up phlegm and blood, but it's the best sound Simon's ever heard. Better even than hearing his sister talk cognitively for the first time in three years. Shedding his backpack, boots and layers of outer clothing, Simon worms his way under the covers and huddles up against Jayne. "_Ye su_. I thought you were dead."

"I'm the tough guy, remember?"

Arms wrap around him, not as strong as they used to be, but the feeling is still close to being perfect and Simon forces back a whimper of relief. Selfishly snatching a moment of comfort, he clings on to Jayne's big frame until the worst of the shivers subside.

"Generator died." Jayne coughs breathlessly. "Thought about getting to the boiler house to switch over. Couldn't do it. Kept the range on though."

"You did great." Simon listens to the droning wheeze coming from that barrel-like chest and he doesn't need a stethoscope to know what's going on in there. Sitting up, he slithers unwillingly out from under the bedclothes and uses the table as a prop to drag himself to a standing position. "I've got some antibiotics for you. Let me light the lanterns so I can see what I'm doing."

Still unable to feel his feet, Simon stumbles over to the cupboards and, in the faltering beam of the dying flashlight, he manages to fill and light three emergency oil lamps. Stoking the stove with more wood he then collapses down into the mattress, the agony too much to bear as both feet begin a slow return to life. Digging out one of the small plastic pots of penicillin from his backpack, he pours Jayne a cup of honey tea from the flask and then holds out the tablets in his open palm. "Sit up, _ai ren_," he says, the endearment coming as a shock, but not feeling out of place in the slightest. Simon's had his epiphany; he loves Jayne Cobb.

Jayne complies, scooching up the mattress and propping himself up against a bundle of pillows. Taking a sip of drink he then pops both the tablets into his mouth and Simon can _feel_ the difficulty he has swallowing. Sweeping the hair off Jayne's forehead he leans forward instinctively and presses his lips against sweaty skin. "You'll be okay," he says with absolute belief because survival is what they _both_ do best nowadays.

"I reckon I will." Jayne smiles wanly, his face grey and thin under an unruly beard, and surprisingly he lets Simon tuck him back into the bed.

Once Jayne is settled, Simon no longer has any excuse to avoid the issue that has been bothering him ever since he took his boots off. Placing a lantern on the table and positioning it to cast as much light as possible, Simon sits on one of the kitchen chairs. Leaning forward, he then pulls the layered socks gently away from each foot and apprehensively examines the skin. It's not great but neither is it as bad as it could have been. The flesh is icy cold, white and hard and there are huge blisters beginning to form on both feet but Simon's optimistic because the reviving tissue is looking pink rather than blue.

Hobbling over to the stove he fills the copper with lukewarm tap water then places it onto an open burner. Water will thaw the frozen flesh and give him a better idea of his prognosis. He made a stupid mistake not being careful enough to keep his socks dry when changing into the ski boots and he's paid a high price for his mistake. The problem with frostbite is that the symptoms are long lasting and the true effects aren't always able to be seen for a good few months. He tries to imagine what it will be like to perform an amputation on himself and almost passes out at the thought. It's best not to even consider the idea of surgery until it becomes absolutely necessary.

Ladling water into a small tea kettle he places it on a burner and waits impatiently for it and the copper to heat up. Too tired and in too much pain to prepare hot food, Simon makes do with snacking on potato chips and dry crackers.

The kettle hisses, announcing its slow rise up to the boil and Simon snatches it from the hotplate, pouring water onto a tea bag then sweetening the mixture with a squeeze of honey. Taking a sip of drink he swallows a two high strength painkillers, knowing, without doubt, that what he's about to do is going to hurt like a bitch. Waiting a few minutes for the pills to kick in, he lifts the copper down onto the floor then, placing a couple of clean towels next to the pot, he rolls up his sweat pants. Legs poised over the bowl he steels himself for the onslaught of pain then, chewing on a knuckle, dips both feet into the warm water.

Jayne's sleeping, that rasping breath both a comfort and a worry to Simon's ears. He doesn't want to disturb the man but is unable to suppress the howl of anguish as the semi-frozen tissue starts to come back to life.

The tortured sound rouses Jayne immediately. "Si-" he wheezes, the remainder of the name vanishing into a prolonged bout of coughing. Lurching to his feet, he wobbles precariously and hangs on to the table for support.

Honestly, this is the last thing Simon needs right now. Gripping onto the seat of the chair, he's at the point of passing out from the agonising pain and the idea that he now has to reassure Jayne is more than he can cope with.

"Get back to bed." It's a desperate demand. "Please!"

"What's the matter, Doc?"

It's only when the blanket wraps around his shoulders that Simon realises that he's shivering uncontrollably. "Frostbite," he explains through chattering teeth, "but I don't think it's severe." He can't talk any longer. There are shooting pains travelling from his feet up to his thighs and it's all he can do not to vomit.

"What can I do?" Jayne rubs at Simon's tense shoulders.

Simon rests his head back against Jayne's belly. "Get back to bed and rest."

"Ain't gonna do that."

Simon knows from experience how stubborn Jayne is. "Keep the water moving around my feet," he says, partway relieved that the man's feeling well enough to want to help.

Jayne kneels, sluicing the warm liquid over Simon's frozen skin then carefully topping the bowl up from the kettle when it starts to lose its heat. "How's that?" he says a few minutes later.

The shivering has subsided but Simon has zoned out into a hypnotic state and he looks blankly at Jayne.

"The water's gone cold. There ain't no more hot."

Simon lifts both feet onto the towel, leaning over and wrapping them up, making sure not to rub at the damaged flesh. "Can you help me to bed?" he asks, overwhelmed by tiredness, pain and the emotion of coming back home.

Jayne's not fit enough to carry him, but somehow they make it back to the mattress and bundle themselves up in the nest of comforters, like two hibernating animals.

"What are we going to do?" Simon's never felt so miserable, so desperate in all his life and these feelings are exacerbated when Jayne's only answer is a hacking cough.

*

Over the course of the next month it's established that whilst they'll both live to tell the tale, it's unlikely that either of them are going to make a speedy recovery.

Jayne's pneumonia eases once the antibiotics kick into action, but he's left with a debilitating cough and an obvious case of chronic fatigue, although he denies that fiercely. Simon is in worse shape; the blisters that formed on both feet are huge and need to be kept bandaged to ensure infection doesn't set in. There appears to be some level of tissue damage to three of his toes and the pain from this is excruciating, making it almost impossible for him to do anything but hobble around with the aid of a stick Jayne has made for him. The threat of amputation lurks closer all the time, causing him to drift into an ever-deepening depression.

The winter storms have died down and the thick blanket of lying snow is soft now, hinting that it's thinking about melting, but truly there's nothing to celebrate. It's all they can do to keep the generator going and the range stoked. The only saving grace is that they have a food store that's stocked with basic necessities enough to last them for a few months, although even this can't dispel the gloom that's settled over them.

"Once the snow's gone we'll head for Hartford," says Jayne as they lie in bed staring up at the ceiling. The weather's warmed up enough now for them to sleep in the bedroom and even though it's hard work for Simon to get up and down the stairs, he's decided it's worth the effort to sleep somewhere comfortable.

"That's got to be two hundred miles around the mountains and at least fifty through the pass. How are either of us going to manage that, the state we're in?" Simon splutters with laughter at the ridiculous thought of him limping up that dangerous track.

"We'll take the mule," says Jayne, leaning over and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto Simon's belly.

Simon feels patronized and retaliates with a barbed tongue. "Can you get it to run on water?"

The mercenary concedes the argument with a sigh. "You want me to change the dressings on your feet?" he asks, sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed.

"I can manage." What Simon _wants_ is for Jayne to lean over and stare at him with eyes that burn with longing. He wants to wake up to a long, slow sucking on his cock, not a litany of the jobs that have to be done that day.

"I gotta get up. Laundry needs doing then I'll chop some wood."

This sentence only serves to irritate Simon even further and once Jayne has wandered off to the bathroom he rolls over onto his side, staring out of the window at the bleak vista of grey sky and wondering why, in heaven's name, he'd been saved from Reavers only to be abandoned here in purgatory. What was the point?

After a couple of hours spent napping and sulking, Simon eventually washes and dresses then makes his laborious descent down the stairs. The pain is not only severe in both feet, it also sends electric waves shooting through his pelvis and all the way into his chest. If only he had some nerve deadeners to kill his feelings.

When he finally arrives in the kitchen, Simon finds Jayne painstakingly dismantling the telegraph machine. "Why bother with the piece of _gou shi_?" he says cattily. "We both know you can't make it work." He wonders when exactly it was he became owner of such a pig-headed attitude.

Jayne lowers his head, fists balled against his sides, then, out of the blue, he sweeps every one of the tiny components onto the floor and gets to his feet, lifting the machine above his head and sending it crashing across the room into the dresser. The cabinet door splinters and comes away from its hinges. "Can't go to Hartford. Can't get this to work," he yells. "Well, what in the name of rutting _di yu_ can we do, Simon? We gonna stay here, bitching at each other and starving to death? Is that the kind of future you have planned for us, you miserable, piece of shit _hundan_?"

It's the most Simon's heard Jayne say for weeks and, for once, he has no automatic bitchy response spitting from his tongue.

Jayne stands there, clenching and unclenching his fists. "If'n we stay here then we're sure as hell gonna die. Is that what you want?"

Simon sinks down onto one of the chairs, his stick tumbling away from him under the table. "Say a miracle happens and we do make it over the mountains. We could get all the way to Hartford and find _nothing_." He's honest to god terrified at the idea of dealing with another town that's been devastated by Reavers.

"Least we'll have tried. If we stay here and make it through to spring, chances are neither of us'll have enough energy to plant out crops. We'll have run out of stores by then so we'll be relying on game to eat and we have hardly any ammunition left." Jayne drops into the wooden carver chair, his expression more lifeless than when he'd been recounting the story of his sisters' slaughter.

Simon's shamefaced, knowing that he's the one to have brought the man to this trough of despair. "You go alone," he says, his words barely more than a whisper. What choice is there? He can't make it to the barn, let alone fifty miles through a rugged mountain pass.

Jayne shakes his head. "It's together or not at all," he says, looking at Simon with eyes that are like shattered glass. "Remember what happens when I go off half-cocked? Remember, Doc?"

Simon smiles wanly at the memory and he reaches out to lay his fingers across the deep scar on Jayne's forearm.

"I'll make some kinda sled and drag you if'n I have to," continues the big man. "Anyways we ain't going 'til the thaw's well underway. You'll be fixed up by then. We both will."

Simon thinks about blackened dead skin and impending gangrene and he can't suppress the attack of shivers. "It's not going to happen," he says, his voice a monotone. "I can't make it."

"Well, you're gonna rutting well have to." Jayne stares at him. "'Cause I ain't doing this on my own... I need you."

_I need you_. That simple sentence hangs between them, an oath, a love letter, and Simon understands every unsaid word. This was never about sex and yet it reignites the spark that has been missing for so long and as they lean instinctively across the table and meld lips together, the kiss comes as a wake up call to both men.

"I need you too," says Simon, his hand grasping Jayne around the back of the neck and pulling him closer.

This time when Jayne carries him to bed, it's a slower, more careful ascent up the staircase and long before they reach the bedroom the mercenary is breathing hard and wheezing from the effort.

"Hope you're not too tired to fuck me, old man." Simon laughs at the expression on Jayne's face as he bridles playfully.

"Not too tired nor too old, 'though I ain't sure I remember how to do it after all this time."

"I expect we'll pick it back up as we go along." Simon heaves in an excited breath at the feel of Jayne's lips peppering hot, damp kisses over his chest, across his belly, onward, downward. When teeth grip the swell of his erection through the soft fleece of his sweats, Simon's drowning in bliss. "Oh god. Oh fucking god."

Tugging down pants and underwear, Jayne works Simon's cock with slow swipes of his tongue, laving the full length of his shaft then throating, humming, sucking him like candy. Simon cries out again from the pleasure as dirty, suggestive phrases drip from his open lips. They haven't had sex since the day he reached his epiphany and this endorsement of feelings is long overdue.

Sitting up, he yanks at the hem of Jayne's sweater, pulling it and the wife-beater over his head and off. "I can't reach the fun parts," he grumbles. It's a lighthearted complaint, but he's itching to see the man fully naked again. Since winter set in they've been cocooned in endless layers of clothing and misery.

Jayne looks up, a toothy grin on his face, then shrugging off his pants and socks he goes back to work, taking Simon into his mouth and sucking on him with fierce pulls.

Simon hasn't even had the urge to masturbate for over a month and the sensation from this blow job is way too intense. On the point of climax he squirms away from Jayne's mouth, greedy with demands. "Want you in me. Want you to fuck me hard." His body arches, legs spreading wide, soles planted firmly on the mattress.

"Careful of them feet," says Jayne and opening the drawer of the nightstand he reaches for the lube and condoms.

Simon's moaning now, his cock a hot, steel bar throbbing wetly against his belly. Right now he doesn't want to think of rotting feet or long hopeless journeys, he just wants to think of sex. Breached by two thick fingers he writhes at the sensation and fucks himself shamelessly on Jayne's slicked up hand. "I'm ready," he demands. _Tianna_, he's so rutting ready.

"Easy now or I'll be shooting all over you, way you're carrying on." Jayne's kneeling, skinning a rubber onto his erection. Bracing himself on one arm he sprawls over Simon and murmurs, "You're gorram pretty. Thought so, first time I ever laid eyes on you."

Mouth poised over Simon's he whispers a string of compliments, making Simon blush and thrash, incinerating with need. That big cock nudges against his relaxed hole and if he wasn't pinned under Jayne's heavy weight he'd fuck himself senseless on it. "Let me ride you," he says in a voice that's thick with longing.

Jayne looks down at him with darkening eyes. "Sure you can manage it?" he asks tentatively, but his cock twitches with excitement and Simon can feel the thrum of a racing pulse, hot against his skin.

"Watch me." Simon pushes playfully at Jayne with his palms then, kneeing him over onto his back, he straddles the man, running both hands up that thick pelt of hair and leaning in salaciously close. "I noticed you too, as soon as I got on board." Brushing his lips over Jayne's mouth he positions himself so that the head of that condom-coated cock is nestled snug against his lubricated hole.

"Hated me, I think you mean to say." Jayne guffaws with laughter and the movement causes a shift, a joining of parts that leaves them both wide-eyed and breathless.

"I _saw_ you," says Simon as soon as he finds words again. "Big, handsome, fierce man. Wanted to fall on my knees and suck you off right there in front of everyone." Jayne yowls with delight as Simon begins to ride him with measured thrusts of his body. "It's only when you opened that annoying mouth that I changed my mind."

Jayne laughs again and the sound bounces off the high ceiling. "Same for me. Thought you was the prettiest, _prissiest_, most stuck up sumbitch I'd ever laid eyes on. Couldn't decide if I wanted to fuck you or rip your throat out. Maybe both."

Simon clenches as tight as he can and reaches behind him to fondle Jayne's balls.

"Fuck! I ain't gonna last if you do that."

"I don't want you to last." Simon's prick is stiff against his belly and dripping with need. One touch and he'll be gone. "I want to watch you when you come inside me, then I want you to ride my cock, _dong ma?_"

Jayne nods, his eyelids slipping to a half-closed position, and with Simon's fingers twined into that thick mat of chest hair the big man pumps his hips, slow and determined, keeping to the rhythm and grunting with excitement at every thrust.

So this is what it feels like to fly. Simon's mind is a whirl of hot, bright, burning sex. Sweat pours off him as he loses every single inhibition left and fucks the hell out of the man lying beneath him.

When Jayne climaxes his face lights up like starshine, unhealthy pallor disappearing as a ruddy sex flush takes over. Just watching him is a thrill and Simon has to drag himself back from the freefall into orgasm, shivering, shuddering, _aching_ to come.

Tumbling on the bed they roughhouse like kids, bodies crashing together as they play-fight hard with mouths locked. The kisses urge Simon on and, sitting up, he slides a condom over his prick, watching mesmerised as Jayne stretches himself open.

The big man is kneeling, eyes wide with arousal as he rides his own fingers and this is the single most erotic thing Simon has ever seen. "_Wo de ma_," he moans lying back on the mattress, stroking his erection which is pumped full of blood. "Want you."

Jayne doesn't hesitate, clambering astride Simon and taking that rock solid cock inside him with one swooping, mind-blowing dip of the hips. Pushed to the point of delirium, Simon arches up canting his hips and embedding himself to the root. "Love this. Love you," he gasps. Oh god, he's said it. He means it.

Jayne stills for a moment and stares down at him, eyes softening to that deep dense blue of a summer evening. "Been thinking I love you too," he says.

Time slows, slows, stops… then a moment later they're back to normal and it's as if that outpouring of feelings has never happened.

Simon spits out his usual dirty commentary--"love having my cock in you. Jerk that big diao for me"--whilst keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Jayne. They've never fucked this way before and it's good, it's _beautiful_, and Simon comes so hard that he thinks he passes out for a couple of seconds. _Le petit mort_.

"Make up sex is the best," he sighs when all his senses have returned to their correct locations. "We should fight more often."

"Reckon we should rut more often." Jayne rolls off him knotting the used rubbers and throwing them on the floor. "Think we broke speed records there."

"Don't know about you, but I haven't any plans for the day," says Simon.

"Well, there's that laundry needs doing."


	12. Chapter 12

Lying in a bath of scalding hot water, Simon lifts his leg up to examine the flesh on the underside of his left foot. The toes are pink! Admittedly it's a darkish pink, but that's a long way off black and a definite sign that there's none of the deep tissue damage he'd been suspecting.

He vaults out of the tub, yelping as his injured feet make sudden contact with the floor, but the pain is no longer excruciating. Those raw, infected blisters are a thing of the past and he's okay. He's more than okay because he's not going to have to amputate his toes with a bone saw filched from the derelict butcher's shop.

"Jayne!" Simon skids naked through the farmhouse, hunting for his elusive lover in order to tell him the good news.

Opening the kitchen door he breathes in fresh spring air that's laced with the acridity of smoke and catches a glimpse of the big man who is out in the pasture doing something that involves a fire. It's not an uncommon sight. "Jayne," he yells and, slipping on a pair of moccasins, he steps out into the sunshine and approaches the field.

"Well now, ain't you a tasty sight all naked and dripping wet." Jayne leans on the top bar of the fence and eyes Simon appreciatively. "What's got you in such a good mood, Doc?"

Simon rests his hands over Jayne's. "My feet are almost healed," he says with a thankful smile.

Separated by the bars of the fence they lean in towards each other, mouths colliding in a soft kiss. The gentleness soon turns dirty and Simon tangles his fingers into Jayne's long hair and pulls him closer.

"Think you're well enough to make that journey then?" says Jayne in between kisses, his hand caressing the curve of Simon's naked butt.

Hartford is all the mercenary thinks about, but, despite the horrors of the past winter, Simon's still fretful at the idea of leaving their sanctuary.

"Snow's almost gone from the peaks and I have a heap of jerky ready." Jayne indicates the strips of meat hanging over the fire. "If'n we leave it too much longer we'll have no food to eat and no ammo to take with us and, in truth, I don't fancy a trip into the unknown with just a bowie knife for protection. So far them wolves are keeping well away from us, but who knows how they'll react once we move through their territory."

Jayne knows how to make a good point. He's also back to being that huge, muscular soldier -- a man who makes Simon feel incredibly safe. This is a factor which increasingly leads to submission, except in bed where they're firmly established as equals.

"I agree," he says softly and the vibrant look on Jayne's face is enough to stiffen Simon up from semi to full erection in a fraction of a second.

The mercenary loves danger and has the soul of an adventurer whereas Simon is a physician with a life devoted to healing. They're so different yet incredibly compatible and this is a constant source of confusion to Simon's organised mind. A mystery wrapped up in an enigma with a side order of conundrum.

This compatibility becomes ever more evident when Jayne drops to a sudden squat and begins to suck loudly and eagerly at Simon's cock. Being naked outside is nothing new for either of them, but when Simon presses his hips up against the bars of the fence, his erection jutting imperiously through the gap in the planks, he discovers a newfound kink. This reminds him of some of the seedier sly bars he's visited where the sex was anonymous and performed through glory holes and gauzy layers of curtaining. He's never indulged his desires inside one of those sordid places but, _wo de ma_, he's wanted to.

The fantasy that's building scene by scene inside his head is all too perfect and he strains eagerly to reach release, pulling back as soon as his climax hits and jerking off hard, spattering Jayne in the face with shot after shot of thick semen.

Often, sex demands reciprocity but then there are those other times, special moments like now, when it really doesn't. Simon smiles down at Jayne, wiping away the dribbles of fluid, then licking his fingers clean.

"So, we're going then?" Jayne looks up at him, still effervescing over at the idea of some action.

"We are." Simon doesn't go back on his word. In fact this is another reason why he's agreed to go along with the plan. When he rescued River from the Alliance he made a vow that he'd always be there to look after her, but since living in Gainsborough he's become distracted and selfish. The events of the winter have reminded him that life is fleeting and that promises are the most important thing in the verse.

*

It doesn't take long to prepare for their journey. By noon next day the trailer on the mule is stocked to overflowing with everything they could possibly need. The farm house is secured, shutters tightly fastened on all windows, and as Simon locks the door and pockets the ring of keys he looks up at the building that's been home to them for more than six months. "Will we be back?" The whisper's not intended for anyone's ears but Jayne has a keen sense of hearing.

"Won't know for sure 'til we get to Hartford."

Simon looks over his shoulder at the mercenary who, surprisingly, is also gazing up at the farmhouse with regret written all over his face. "We don't have to go," he says, full of faint hope.

"Ain't right not to at least try." Jayne lays an arm over him and the comforting weight of that limb is something Simon's beginning to depend upon as much as air and water.

"I know you been thinking about your sis," continues Jayne. "You talk in your sleep."

Simon's startled. "I do not," he says in his most affronted tone of voice.

Jayne laughs loud and long. "You sure do, Doc. Now let's quit wasting time yammering and get headed out."

Pushing all embarrassing thoughts to one side, Simon sits on the mule with Jayne snug behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his belly. There's no question that he should be the one to drive having had so much more practice at negotiating the track to town.

The mule sputters a little then roars into life and as they race away the remainder of fuel sloshes around inside the gas tank. Simon hates the thought of abandoning the old transporter once she's drained dry. He draws to a halt when they reach the gate and watches the curves of Jayne's butt as the man tugs down on the bar of the latch and swings the gate open, riding it like a small boy. The lantern still hangs on that nail where Simon placed it almost half a year ago. Even the winter storms didn't dislodge it. It's a landing light to guide them back.

"You getting all sentimental again?" Jayne grins as he closes the gate and climbs astride the mule.

"I'm leaving the first real home I've had."

Immediately Simon curses himself for saying such a ridiculous thing, but Jayne tightens his arms around Simon's waist and the, "I know," that follows is so quiet and so very sincere that Simon _feels_ the empathy coming off the man in waves. Jayne's family life was disturbingly hollow and since leaving the nest, he's carved out a barren existence for himself. In contrast Simon's home brimmed over with luxury but it lacked warmth and was just as empty. Serenity and her crew have been more of a family than either of them have ever experienced before but the Firefly has never truly belonged to anyone but Malcolm Reynolds.

"Are we doing the right thing?" he says, turning to look at Jayne.

"We're doing the _only_ thing." Jayne plants a quick kiss on Simon's lips. "And if it makes you feel better y'can pretend you're under duress and this here's a gun."

The solid length of Jayne's erection lodges against his lower back and Simon laughs, finding it such a thrill that the big man is constantly aroused by him. "Your cock is more of an incentive than any revolver," he says, shifting his hips to let Jayne know how much he enjoys the feel of him. God! He wants to fuck right here on the track. He wants to strip off and get seen to over the saddle of the mule.

"_Ye su_, Simon." Jayne voice is breathy against his ear. "I can hear them dirty thoughts of yours. You best get moving 'fore I have to act on them."

Simon leans back. "As soon as we get to town I'm going to fuck you."

"Not if I fuck you first."

That undercurrent of sadness has gone and now all Simon can think about is sex. Whether it was intentional or not Jayne has played him like a master, shifting his feelings away from that tumbledown farmhouse and focusing them onto what's truly important.

Revving the mule he follows the track, instinctively avoiding the potholes, and before long they arrive in Gainsborough which is looking shabby and desolate -- a real ghost town now.

"Can't say as I'll be sorry to see the back of this place," says Jayne as they ride slowly up the main street.

"Is there anything we need from here?" ask Simon.

Jayne pinches the bridge of his nose in a gesture reminiscent of Mal Reynolds. "Reckon we should check out all the stores before we go," he says, climbing off the mule and looking despondently at the razed remains of the mall. "There was plenty of gear in there I should have taken. I weren't thinking straight that day."

"The place was a health hazard," says Simon gently, trying to cajole him out of his mood. Jayne still lapses into guilt ridden remorse at the drop of a hat and Simon wonders how the man has managed to keep that hidden from everyone for so long. Maybe he didn't. Maybe Simon's been carrying his own baggage around for so many years he hasn't had time to see anyone else's problems. As ship's physician he should have tried harder. "Are we staying here for the night?" he asks.

Jayne frowns. "Was planning on heading straight for the mountains, but now you come to mention it it'd make sense to have a full day to go through the pass."

Simon's relieved. Even wearing three pairs of socks and sensible hiking boots his newly recovered feet are hurting like hell. It's not just him either. Jayne's chest is wheezy and he's been struggling for breath more than usual the past few days. Neither of them are particularly healthy specimens of humankind.

Pulling the mule to a halt in front of the mercantile, Simon climbs off and stretches his legs. "What do we need?" he says brightly, the idea of a night spent somewhere different filling his head with ideas.

Jayne furrows his brow. "You look for batteries, flashlights and any snack food we may have missed. I'll double check everywhere for ammo and gas for the mule then meet you back here in three hours."

"Come to the mayor's house." Simon points southward. "It's just back from the street. You can see its roofline over there."

Jayne follows the direction of Simon's finger. "Why there?"

"Why not."

"You," says Jayne folding Simon up into a tight embrace. "You're so gorram…"

Simon never does find out what Jayne thinks of him because the sentence has long since dissolved into hungry kisses. They were both too tired to fuck last night and an early rise this morning allowed no time for sex. Abstinence, however short term it might be, is one hell of a stimulant and Simon could quite happily fall on his knees here in front of the row of buildings with their dusty porches and peeling paint. He won't though because he has plans, plans that involve one of those giant four-poster beds he encountered last time he was visiting Gainsborough.

"I'll see you later," he says, carding his fingers through Jayne's hair and kissing him greedily one last time.

They pull regretfully away from each other and Simon watches the big man walk off in a westerly direction through the town then disappear inside one of the buildings. Once he's alone Simon turns and strides purposefully towards the mansion which looks even more derelict without its covering of snow.

"_Ni hao_," Simon says in murmured greeting as he enters the abandoned house. He's used to silence, but this place is so full of ghosts that he can almost hear them talking. Maybe it wasn't the best choice for what he has in mind.

Once the fires in the grates are burning fiercely the place begins to feel a little less creepy and Simon sets about shutting off the demolished parts of the house then cleaning the rest and making up the bed in Georgia Griffiths' room with linen found inside a closet in the laundry. For some ridiculous reason he feels that the mayor's deceased wife is on his side. She knew what it felt like to be in a relationship unacceptable to everyone around her.

Housekeeping done to the best of his ability, Simon then turns his hand to making some kind of supper for the two of them. Canned food is all that's on offer, but he's learned a few tricks since being marooned here. Seasoning the processed beef with a careful selection of dry spices he then prepares some pilaf rice to accompany it and after tasting the food and finding it to be surprisingly palatable, Simon looks at his watch. In less than thirty minutes Jayne will be here and there's an excitement building inside him that for once isn't only about the physical. However ridiculous it might seem Simon wants to bring a little romance to their lives. They like each other. They have great sex. They've even admitted to having feelings, but despite all this something's still absent. Simon wants to prove to himself, for once and for all, that this relationship isn't about two lonely men making the best of a difficult situation.

Mulling things over whilst on the hunt for extra candles, he discovers, with great delight, that the house has a small wine cellar. Simon's no drinker, but he remembers his mother and father being served decanted wines with their meals and it always seemed so elegant to him. The most memorable dates he's been on have involved fine dining, although, unfortunately, there was always a woman seated opposite him, putting a dampener on the evening.

Simon carefully lays the table in the den with silverware and crystal glasses and once this is done, his level of apprehension grows. Jayne will think it's stupid, wasting time on this _gou shi_ when there are far more important things that he should be doing. He's about to replace the silverware in its box when the mercenary comes crashing through the door, bold and brash, filling the small room with his presence.

"Rutting hell, I can see why you like this place. The mayor was sitting pretty alri…"

For the second time today Jayne fails to end his sentence as he stares around at the candles burning in silver candlesticks and the extravagantly laid table.

"_Ai ya_!" He begins to pace back and forth in front of the fire. "I ain't never-"

Simon feels more stupid than he ever has done throughout his whole pathetic life. "_Dui bu qi qing yuan liang wo,_" he interrupts, gabbling in formal Mandarin. "I'm an idiot." He collects up the knives and forks and is surprised when Jayne races around the table and takes a firm hold of his wrists, unclamping his fingers and replacing the silverware neatly.

"Listen to me, _xin gan_," the mercenary says quietly. "No one's ever done something like this for me. Ever. It was a shock, y'know."

Simon can't stop the grin forming on his face. Did Jayne just call him darling?

"We got some eats coming then?" says the big man, letting go of Simon's hand with an embarrassed smile on his face.

"We have," says Simon. "Nothing fancy though."

Jayne sniffs the air. "Smells good whatever it is," he says. "I'll go get washed up," and with that he turns and hurries out of the room.

Simon knows that his speedy departure has more to do with the rosy blush highlighting the man's cheeks than a need to get clean. Still, it gives him a chance to compose himself whilst serving up the meal. There was a moment there when his vision became wet and blurry.

By the time Jayne returns to the den the plates of food are on the table, the fire is newly stoked and Simon is pouring the wine. Sitting down he raises his glass. "Thank you," he says, watching the expression on Jayne's face carefully. "Thank you for saving me. Thank you for everything."

"Same goes for me, Doc. And whatever happens after-"

"Let's not talk about the future." Simon shakes his head. "Not tonight."

Dinner has a dream-like quality about it. Eating takes second place, both of them too busy talking to worry about what's on their plates. Every now and then Jayne reaches for Simon's hand and covers it with his own and it's during those moments that Simon's stomach lurches with happiness and he's so very glad he made this effort.

After the food has been eaten and the bottle of wine is finished they snuff out the candles then Simon leads Jayne to bed.

The embers in the grate are barely glowing and while Jayne is taking a lightning quick shower in freezing water, Simon stokes the fire with logs from the basket. "_Xie xie_," he says in a low whisper, staring at the awkwardly set tile that's been hiding a whole verse full of secrets.

After Jayne emerges from the bathroom and kneels shivering in front of the fire Simon takes a deep breath and faces the icy water. The jets from the shower sting like needles of pure pain, but the sensation is so powerful that it makes him bristle with energy.

When he returns to the bedroom Jayne is burrowed under the comforter waiting for him and, falling into those arms, Simon revels in the fiery maleness of Jayne's body and the bounce of the perfectly sprung mattress. Their first kiss is lingering and sweet and as they rock together Simon knows that this is going to be very different from usual.

*

Rays of light spear Simon awake through the gap in the drapes and he wards them off with the flat of a hand. Judging from the height of the sun it must be well past dawn. Wriggling, he enjoys the glorious ache that comes from being well and truly fucked and looks to his left at the man lying beside him.

Jayne is snoring quietly, still cocooned inside a deep sleep, and Simon rolls over, planting a kiss on the man's forehead then sliding down the bed. Breathing in the smell of their sex, he takes that hardening cock into his mouth and, languidly tonguing the fat knob, analyses the difference between fucking and making love.

At times, last night was harder and more urgent than ever before, but there were moments when the sex slow-burned with such power that Simon thought he was about to be consumed by it. They don't often call each other endearments or passionately declare their love, but there's something constant between them -- a connection of minds as well as bodies.

When Jayne begins to make these throaty grunts of approval Simon sucks harder and humps the bed sheets with pleasure. He loves to rouse the man this way -- loves to see the shock on Jayne's face when he wakes to a blinding orgasm.

Climax building, Jayne's fingers clutch at Simon's hair and Simon can feel his balls tightening in response. The thick cotton is abrasive enough to work him off and after a few more minutes of erotic play Simon's there, burying himself nose deep in Jayne's crotch and throating that thick shaft as the come jerks out of his own slit.

With an almighty howl Jayne thrusts rhythmically and the only downside is that Simon's so busy swallowing that he's unable to watch that bemused expression appear as Jayne returns to consciousness.

"You trying to kill me, Doc?" Jayne's words stutter out, punctuated by shocky gasps of breath, then with a sigh of completion he collapses back onto the pillow, dragging Simon upwards until he's spread over him like a blanket.

"I can honestly say I've not thought about killing you for a long time now."

"Feeling's mutual then," says Jayne, his lips brushing Simon's mop of hair as he glances at the gap in the drapes. "By the look of the light out there I reckon we should've been making headway a good few hours ago."

"It was worth it."

"It was." Jayne's happiness turns into an exclamation of horror as he moves his leg to the right. "You left a load in the bed for me to find, you _hundan_."

Simon buries his laughter in Jayne's neck. "What can I say? You know I get turned on from sucking you off." His words are muffled by a wealth of warm skin.

Unexpectedly Jayne wrestles him over onto his back and, keeping him pinned, runs a finger that's wet with cold spunk up Simon's bare torso. "Like that, do you?"

"Kind of do," admits Simon with a shy smile. He likes everything to do with Jayne and sex.

Jayne lets out this deep animal growl of satisfaction. "Never figured on you being such a horny one," he says as he stretches his body out to its full reach, "but much as I'd love to stay in bed, I'm thinking we ought to be on the move."

Simon doesn't argue. This short lived vacation of theirs was wonderful although it could never be described as real. Romantic dinners and all night love making sessions have no place in their brave new world. He listens as Jayne coughs up a lung on his way down the stairs and it's a reminder that he has one place left to visit before they vacate Gainsborough. Braving the shower again and, shaking off the droplets of water like a dog, he towels dry and pulls on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. There's no point acting _all rutting precious_, as Jayne would say.

Whilst the mercenary's preoccupied, rummaging for breakfast in the kitchen, Simon slips out of the house and makes his way to the surgery, certain that last time he was here looting he'd spotted some containers of hydrocortisone and muscle relaxant in the doctor's small med vault. Jayne's lingering cough is a common symptom of post bacterial pneumonia and if Simon had access to Core facilities he'd be able to cure it with one dose of medication, but here things are very different. Even so Simon wouldn't be unduly worried about Jayne's state of health if it wasn't for the fact that later today they'll be climbing god knows how far up into those mountains. Strenuous exercise and an increase in altitude could well have a negative effect on the man's lungs so it's best to be prepared.

Simon's relieved to find that his memory isn't playing tricks on him. The pressurized vials and inhalers are still there stacked neatly on the top shelf of the vault and he takes several of each, stowing them inside his jacket pocket.

By the time he emerges from the doctor's surgery he can see Jayne pacing impatiently in front of the mule. It's not an unexpected sight, the man's as restless as a caged animal when there's action to be taken, and Simon approaches, preparing himself for the usual telling off.

"Don't they teach no manners on Oh-siris?" Jayne glowers. "Where I come from it's polite to tell folks where you'll be at."

Simon adopts a penitent expression. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He pauses and looks up at the man through his eyelashes. "You can spank me later."

Jayne's relentless pacing comes to sudden halt. "Teasing that way can lead to a mighty sore behind."

His blue eyes sparkle with interest and Simon can't help imagining what it would be like to be laid out across that big knee. Maybe he'll find out later. This relationship of theirs is like unwrapping layer upon layer of kink, something that Simon has never had the chance to experience before. "Sounds like fun," he says artfully.

"Soon as we make it across the mountains I'll hold you to that, Doc." Jayne grins a mile wide and slips his fingers inside Simon's waistband, pulling him close until there's no more than half an inch between them. "You got your revolver loaded?"

"Yes." Simon's used to the feel of carrying weapons nowadays. He cleans his guns regularly and even sharpens his knives using Jayne's whetstone.

Jayne nods his approval. "Got a full water bottle and plenty of spare ammo?"

Simon feels the irritation building. "I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do, Doc. I just want you to be safe is all."

They kiss slowly and sweetly as if they're about to make love again and all those kinky thoughts from earlier just melt away. Now Simon's full of different kind of urgency: eager to make it across that ridge, eager for the journey to be over and for them both to be safe.

This final effort at escape means that he's keeping his promise to River. If it turns out that there's nothing in Hartford to help them get away then they have no choice but to make the most of what they have here -- which in Simon's eyes is far more than he had when he arrived.


	13. Chapter 13

The sense of foreboding hits as soon as they begin to ascend the rocky track leading up to the mountains. The wide valley in which Gainsborough sits is deep and verdant but vegetation soon turns to scrub and before long even that wizened brush becomes a rarity. Everything is grey and the air feels cold, despite the fact that the temperature is still moderate and spring like.

After a couple of hours of traveling, the mule is still going strong and Simon feels the urge to pat her and whisper words of encouragement. She's become part of the family now, something he rescued and put to good use, and she's proved to be no end of help to them. _Aiya_! He's starting to think like Mal now -- as attached to the old junker of a transporter as the captain is to his Firefly. How strange the way the way adversity can alter a man's perspective so dramatically.

Forging on past the mountain pool, Simon keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the track ahead, despite the fact that he knows that the bodies will have wasted away to bone by now. It's not death that haunts him, it's something far more sinister. This whole area is a reminder of how terrified he was, how ridiculously childish his behaviour was. Jayne wasn't much better back then either, both of them too closed off to know how to communicate.

Once they pass the main entrance to the mine, the going gets a little tougher. The ascent is easy enough for vehicles purpose built for the task, but the little mule is finding it hard to pull their combined weight plus a heavily laden trailer.

"Pull over and let me off," says Jayne, leaning forward and mouthing the words against Simon's ear. "Wait for me at the pass."

Simon shakes his head emphatically. He'd rather leave the trailer behind than Jayne. "She'll make it," he says. Provided there's enough gas to get up there.

Jayne doesn't argue, just adjusts his sunglasses and wraps his arms around Simon's waist as they continue up the narrow track.

The plateau that the Reavers used as a landing spot is still strewn with piles of litter. Simon accelerates hard to get away and a few minutes later they arrive at the rocky overhang where they spent their first night away from the caves. It's as good a place as any to stop for a break and, dismounting from the mule, he stretches out aching muscles.

Jayne follows suit and with fingers laced together he reaches up high and then arches his spine. "I remember someone taking me by surprise out here," he says with a dirty grin.

"You started it." Simon thinks back to that kiss. How awkward they were. How unsure. How grimy and crusted with sweaty dirt. God, they must have been desperate.

Jayne sits down on a weathered plane of rock then takes out his water bottle and a snack bar. "Reckon we've changed some since then."

Almost a year has passed when measured in seasons, but it's impossible to tell in Standard Alliance Time how long they've been together as a couple. Simon would like to know so he has some way of marking it. The sad truth is that he's never been involved with someone for more than a one night stand. That's what happens when you hide the truth from everyone. Initially, he lied to protect his family, but now he thinks things over he's not even sure why he kept up the pretence for so long. Maybe it was for River's sake, although if anyone knew the truth about him it'd be his reader sister. It could be because of Kaylee and her gargantuan crush on him. Most likely of all is that he was a coward, embarrassed about being _tongzhi_.

"You've gone awful quiet." Jayne nudges him, handing over a protein bar.

"I was thinking how good it is not to have to tell lies." Simon looks down at the vista spreading out below him and suddenly things don't seem so bleak.

The next part of the journey is new ground. Jayne takes over driving duty and as the track becomes narrower and steeper Simon peers over the precipice to his left and gulps, becoming ever more disconcerted when the mule grinds to a halt.

"We got a problem," says Jayne in a monotone. "We got a rutting great problem."

Simon looks up at the rocky pass… or what would have been the pass in a former life. The way ahead is blocked by huge boulders, the opening impenetrable.

"Avalanche must've brought on a rockslide," says Jayne, inching the mule along the narrow path to a slighter wider area where he dismounts.

Simon can't help but notice how precarious the rock formations are above him. Sidling forwards, he joins Jayne who's glowering up at the ton of stone that's stacked in front of them. "What do we do?" he asks.

Jayne takes a couple of steps to the side, tucking strands of hair out of the way behind his ears as he looks over the cliff edge. "Well, we can't go up," he says thoughtfully, "so there ain't much of an alternative."

Surely he isn't serious about this. A dense mass of trees spreads out below them like a dark green blanket, but between them and the comfort of the forest lie several impossibly sheer rock faces. "So… I assume you packed the climbing gear," Simon says, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Jayne doesn't pick up on the tone. "I didn't reckon on needing it."

"You honestly think we're going to free climb down there with no safety equipment. No way, Jayne. No fucking way."

Jayne frowns at him. "What else is there to do?"

"We go back to Gainsborough."

"Besides that."

The man is so gorram stubborn and Simon feels his frustration level pushing towards maximum. "We _cannot_ climb down there without safety lines."

"There's rope back at the mine. Plenty of it as I recall."

Chills tumble down Simon's spine. He knows the kind of dogged determination Jayne displays in situations like these--it's the reason they're both still alive--and he knows that the mercenary will go through with this insane plan whatever objections are thrown in his path. "Do I have a choice?" he says bleakly.

Jayne shrugs. "You do. You get to come with me or you take the mule back to the farm and wait."

Simon heaves in a single deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. If Jayne makes the climb on his own without the correct equipment then he'll fall to his death and there's no way Simon endured the agony of frostbite in both feet from saving the man's life, just to let him fall off a mountain a few weeks later.

"I'll go with you, but, damnit, Jayne, if you go ahead and do something foolhardy-"

Jayne guffaws. "Don't reckon it gets more foolhardy than swinging down a rock face on a piece of rope, do you?"

Simon tries to smile, but he has too much on his mind. The descent down the mountain will be bad, but before he gets to experience that particular thrill he has to go back inside the scene of his worst nightmares. He's never forgotten what it was like inside that cavern and has dreamt about it often, waking frozen with fear at the image of that skinned corpse trying to speak to him through bloodied lips.

"Doc?"

Hands drop onto his shoulders and, startled by the sudden movement, Simon shudders in a breath.

"I ain't gonna make you do this." Jayne pulls him into his arms. "We can both go back to Gainsborough if'n that's what you reckon is best."

Surrendering to the embrace, Simon once again tries to leech some of that strength from Jayne. Six months ago his opinion wouldn't have mattered one iota to the mercenary, but now it seems they're partners in every sense of the word.

"I want to do it, but…" He doesn't want to admit that he's terrified of going back inside the pit.

"The climb ain't gonna be as bad as you think." Jayne releases him and points to a spot down to the west. "See that path? If'n we can make it down to there safely we'll be shiny."

Simon practices meditative breathing again. He can do this. He's tougher now that he's ever been in his whole life. Making a mental list of his accomplishments, he wonders why the thought of stepping inside that mine is the one thing that's defeating him. Defeat, however, belongs to the past. "Come on then," he says with a forced air of breeziness. "Turn the mule around and let's get going."

Jayne looks at him speculatively for a moment, then with a, "'kay, Doc," he clambers astride the saddle and carefully manoeuvers the vehicle until she's facing back down the track.

Simon jumps on and with one arm clamped around Jayne's belly he leans back and guides the unstable trailer. Going down the track is far more precarious than coming up and there are moments when it seems likely that they'll be taking the quickest route down to the bottom.

"Reckon this here'll be the best place to make the climb," says Jayne as he slows at the overhang and looks out over the precipice. "We can secure the ropes and there's some good footholds to be had."

Simon nods. This is a place of firsts: first real taste of what freedom means, first time unfettering his desire for Jayne. Maybe he'll get to die here too, although that won't be a first. He's done that at least twice in his life now.

As they pull up to the cavernous entrance of the mine the mule skids on the loose shale, her worn treads losing their grip. The engine is beginning to make this low whine of complaint every time she's revved but she's a fighter alright. Simon's proud of her. She's done incredibly well and his one hope is that he can do the same.

Jayne stares at the opening and it's the first time he's shown any hesitation today. "I know it weren't pretty in there last time."

That's one huge motherfucker of an understatement, thinks Simon.

"But we just gotta grab what we came for and get the hell out."

Simon remembers how Jayne kept him focused during those first few horrifying hours here. 'Don't look too hard.' 'Don't take your eyes off me.' The mercenary had held his hand and wet nursed him through every minute of their time spent in the caverns, but that's no longer necessary. Simon's proved he has mettle and Jayne has no need to pamper him any longer. "Okay," he says.

Even the surface level of the mine reeks of damp decay and both of them pull bandanas over their noses to ward of the some of the stink.

"Hope the elevator's still working," says Jayne as he enters the small cabin which houses the controls for all the mine machinery. "_Qingwa cao de liumang_."

The swearing along with the sound of a fist slamming down onto the panel gives Simon the definite feeling that all is not well. "I'm guessing that's a no," he calls.

"Juice is out on all the batteries and we don't got time to figure out where the main generators are to refuel them."

At first Simon's secretly relieved, at least this way he won't have to see the devastation down there, but then as they make their way down the narrow access shaft with only the beams of the flashlights to guide them, fear slaps him across the face. The idea of walking blindly through that chamber, the scene of horrific butchery, with such a small range of vision is like something from one of those Cortex fright clips that River gets such a kick from.

Jayne stills as soon as the shaft opens out onto level one and Simon can hear the soft slither of metal on leather as a gun is drawn from its holster.

"Twitchy much," he says, trying to dispel his own fears.

"We get to the stores and pick up as much rope as we can carry then we make our way back here, _dong ma_?"

Walking slowly across the cavern, Simon feels the bile rise as something squelches beneath his foot. He doesn't aim the flashlight down, doesn't want to know what could still be wet and soft after all this time. The place is more sepulchral than he ever remembered and he wonders how they made it through without either of them losing their minds. The floor is becoming more and more slippery and Simon skids, reaching out to Jayne for support and the feel of a gun caressing his skin is more disturbing than anything. He's not seen the mercenary this keyed up in months.

They reach the stores and are silently loading skeins of rope into a bag when Simon swings the beam of his flashlight in a one eighty degree arc and Simon spots something that makes his hackles rise and his skin crawl. "Reavers!" he rasps. "Jayne, there's Reavers down here." Eyes glare yellow in the beam of his flashlight and he straightens to a rigid stance, his hand fumbling for his pistol, but before he can free it from the holster the creature is on him with a snarl and after that all he feel is an immense weight pushing him backwards and the pressure of jaws clamping around his shoulder.

The sound of a single shot echoes off the chamber walls and Simon is buried beneath a dead weight, wet iron filling his nostrils, warmth spilling over him in waves.

"Simon. Christ, Simon. _Tamade_, are you okay?"

The pressure is removed from his body and Simon is shocked to discover that he's still alive. "I think… I think I'm fine," he gasps, trying to gain control over his breathing. It's the second time he's survived this kind of surprise attack and he doesn't think it's likely he'll make it through another one. "What are Reavers still doing here?"

"It ain't a Reaver, it's some kind of big mountain cat," says Jayne as he aims his flashlight over the dead body. "Must've gone to ground here once all the mining folk was gone."

Squatting over Simon, he traces a finger over bloodied skin. "Are you okay to move?"

Simon's bruised and winded, he's certain from the sting that he's been clawed in his upper torso but other than that he's good. Using the rock wall as support he gets up, legs shaky but otherwise in working order. "I'm fine," he says once more.

"I knew there was something in here," says Jayne in that sorrowful voice of his that Simon's come to recognise as the beginning of a long and painful guilt trip.

"And you killed it." Simon picks his flashlight up off the ground and aims it at the mercenary, "so please don't go all moody on me. We've got a mountain to face before nightfall."

He's not certain how much of this bravado is real, but it seems to convince Jayne -- at least enough to encourage the man into picking up the bag full of rope and moving out of the store room.

"Will there be any more of them?" asks Simon nervously as he squelches back through the cavern.

"Unlikely. Mountain cats are solitary critters," says Jayne. "Reckon we're safe for now."

Simon's legs are trembling as he forces his aching body to haul itself up the slope of the passageway, but the thought of escaping this place is enough to keep him moving. The first hint of daylight sends him almost delirious with happiness and he breaks into a run, doubling over and trying to get his breath back as he emerges into the sunshine.

"Don't make me go in there again," he says when the mercenary finally exits the mine, coughing hard from the exertion of hiking up that viciously steep incline.

"Won't ever, I swear." Jayne collapses onto the dusty ground, fighting for air.

"Here," says Simon, loading both inhalers with their cartridges and placing them in Jayne's hand. "It's the exertion. Take a couple of puffs of the blue one and then one of the brown."

Jayne looks suspiciously at his upturned palm. "Ain't got no use for these. It's you needs attention not me."

Simon has learned that action is the best way to get through to Jayne. With no further argument he walks over to the trailer, unpacking a small medikit and a pack of antiseptic wipes. He's covered in blood, his jacket shredded by those evil claws, but its thick padding has kept him protected throughout the short-lived attack. After emptying the pockets he takes it off and places it regretfully on a rock. Neither his pants nor his tee-shirt are in such a bad state of repair and so he opts to leave them on, saving his single change of clothing for a more serious emergency. Shivering, he wraps his arms tightly around himself, trying and failing to push recent events out of his mind. His throat is sore from yelling, his shoulder aches dully from where the animal had its jaws clamped around him and if Jayne had been a moment slower… No. Simon's not going to dwell on that thought.

Sitting down and leaning back against one of the rocks, he uses the wipes to wash away the worst of the blood and whilst he's doing this he hears the distinctive puffing sound of inhalers being used. It's one less worry to deal with and should prevent Jayne's lungs going into spasm during the descent.

"Let me see to you now," says Jayne gruffly and kneeling beside Simon he takes a cloth from the pack and gently cleans him up. "You got sliced up some and you're gonna be bruised to hell, but, all in all, you're a lucky feller."

"Nothing new there then," says Simon reaching out to Jayne and caressing his cheekbone with the pad of a thumb. "Don't look so worried, _ai ren_. I'm okay." He stands up. "We should get moving."

Frowning, Jayne gets to his feet. "We ain't going down that cliff so there's no need to hurry."

Ignoring the ache that's originating from every part of his body, Simon faces up to Jayne with arms folded defiantly. "I said I was willing to do this and I still am. I had a scare. You don't have to smother me because of it."

"It's just common sense is all. You're too jittery for this."

Simon shakes his head. It's a now or never moment for him. The idea has terrified him from start to finish and having made it this far he knows if he has to go back he'll never be persuaded to attempt it again. "If we leave now we might be able to make it down before dark."

"If'n you're sure."

Far from sure about _anything_, Simon looks over the precipice and then back at Jayne who's already filling two backpacks with as much as they can safely carry from the trailer.

Without warning, Jayne leaps down to a narrow ledge four or five feet below the edge. The man's careless bravado often has Simon in palpitations -- either from terror or urgent arousal. Again Simon peers over the edge, watching as Jayne anchors two lengths of rope to the rocky outcrops.

"It's no different to how it was in the caves," he says reassuringly as he holds out a hand to help Simon down and then knots a rope around his belly. "'Cept without the Reavers of course. You climb down. I'll lower the bags, throw down a rope and then follow. We'll have to leave one rope behind on each descent, but it don't look to be too far to that goat path."

Simon feels a nervous tic beginning to irritate the corner of his eye as he remembers Jayne falling into that black nothingness, the rope searing the skin away from his palms as he tries to support the man's weight. "You go first," he says thinking of those big feet searching for toeholds in the heavy hiking boots without anyone watching over him.

"Do you gotta argue 'bout everything? Just do what I say, Doc."

Simon considers prolonging the fight, but seduced by that curious feeling in the pit of his belly which comes from Jayne dominating him, he decides that this isn't the time for a row.

Inching over the edge he slithers down the cliff face, hands and feet hunting out suitable niches whilst Jayne stands above him, paying out the rope. This time in broad daylight without a pack of violent cannibals on his tail Simon finds the climb less scary and almost exhilarating. Descending the rock face is tough on the hands and legs, however it's more than just physical strength that's required. It takes a huge amount of concentration to locate the correct positions and when his feet end up on solid ground below it's almost a disappointment. It's only when he looks up that he realises that Jayne never needed to help him once.

"Good job, Doc."

Simon allows himself a moment to bathe in the warmth of the compliment and then he yells to Jayne to lower down the backpacks. After that's done he watches with trepidation as the mercenary struggles to descend the rock face, his bulk causing him problems, just as Simon suspected it would.

With a yelp, Jayne slips out of a foothold and falls the last six feet, pitching to the left and narrowly missing Simon as he rolls over and comes to rest at the very edge of the goat path above yet another ridiculously steep cliff. Another few inches and he would have surely plummeted to his death.

"What happened to the fucking safety rope?" Simon kneels next to Jayne, furious and frightened and sick to the stomach at the thought of coming this close to losing the man _again_.

Jayne looks over the precipice and then back at Simon with a sheepish smile on his face. "Reckoned it would be more use in the bag case we needed it later. Seems like maybe I was wrong."

Simon clenches his fists, a millisecond away from hitting the mercenary. Instead he leans over, trying to vacuum away the remains of that deep-seated death wish with gouging kisses.

"You have to start taking care of yourself," he says, his words coming in breathless whispers. "For me, Jayne. Please."

Simon shifts back to a sitting position, his hands moving relentlessly over that big body to check for broken bones and lacerations.

"Ouch," Jayne yelps as Simon manipulates his left ankle.

Having unlaced the boot Simon checks the joint and is relieved to find it's nothing more than a minor sprain. "Just a twist," he says as he wraps the foot in a tight bandage, "you were lucky. How many times do I have to tell you that you're not indestructible? What would I have done if you'd have fallen off that cliff? Do you ever think about that? Do you ever think about how I feel?"

Once again he sees that puzzled expression appear on Jayne's face and wishes desperately he could erase all the worthlessness that was instilled at such an early age. Jayne has grown up with the belief that he's unlovable and, as protection, has spent the last thirty years trying his best to self-perpetuate that myth. "Isn't it enough that I need you?"

Jayne sits up and tugs on his boot, lacing it as tightly as possible for support. "It's more'n enough," he grunts as he struggles to his feet hanging onto a nearby protrusion of rock for support. "Hell, I know I ain't the easiest of folks to get along with but I'm trying, gorramit."

Simon feels like stamping his foot with frustration because once again Jayne's lack of self-esteem is rearing its ugly head. "I get along with you fine, I like you, I _love_ you. I just wish you'd learn to love yourself a little more."

Jayne looks shifty and lets out this embarrassed chuckle of laughter. "Think you're maybe getting to know me too well, Doc. Watch out or I might have to chuck you off of this mountain." He gives Simon a shove which sends him careering towards the edge and then at the last minute reaches out and wraps an arm around him, drawing him close.

"You… you…" stammers Simon as Jayne laughs down at him and then kisses him hard on the mouth to shut him up.

"Keep telling you, you gotta quit wasting so much time with all this mouth flapping."

Sulking a little, Simon hefts on a backpack and follows Jayne down the precarious track, both of them limping as they slip and slide on the loose shingle. He's not certain if Jayne's outwitted him, berated him or taken anything he's said to heart, but he hopes his words have had some impact. If he has to put up with any more of the mercenary's attempts to prove his immortality then it might just be the death of him instead.

The goat path weaves its way down the mountain and just as Simon's thinking that the journey isn't going to be as difficult as he surmised, they come to a stumbling block. Another mud slide has stripped away the land, leaving them stuck on a jagged outcrop with no way out other than a further strenuous climb down. This time, however, things seem very different. The forest is closer now, spreading out before them like a soft cushion, and as Simon studies the cliff face, a surge of adrenaline-laced excitement replaces those previous feelings of terror.

They sit on the precipice swinging their legs over the edge and eating strips of jerky and potato chips while Jayne looks down at the drop that's spinning away below them.

"This time I'm going first and I don't wanna hear no bitching about it," he says.

The two men grin at each other.

"Is your ankle strong enough to hold out?" asks Simon. It isn't a bad sprain, but even the smallest weakness gets exaggerated during this kind of extreme activity.

"Question is, are you strong enough to hang on to me when I fall off the rutting mountain again?"

"I've done it before." Sometimes Simon forgets how much they've propped each other up since they've been marooned here on this barren world.

Once their snack break is over, Jayne gets gingerly to his feet, testing his ankle and, at the same time, tying a length of rope around his waist. Rummaging in one of the bags, he digs out some fingerless gloves, the kind he uses when he's hunting game. "Forgot I had these," he says, handing a pair to Simon who slips them on, tightening the strapping as much as he can in order to make them fit better.

Jayne looks across at the darkening sky. "We'll have to be quick. Don't fancy hanging on to the side of this gorram mountain all night," he says and then, without warning, starts climbing down long before Simon's ready to take the strain.

Bracing himself against a boulder Simon pays out the rope, watching nervously as Jayne descends. He can tell the man's hurting far more than he's letting on from the way he's favouring his right side over his left. It will, without doubt, make the climb way more difficult with only half the number of footholds available and, gripping the safety line tightly with gloved palms, Simon's heart lurches into his throat.

"It ain't as hard as before," calls Jayne, his breath rattling and worrying Simon even more. "I'm most of the way down already."

Jayne was close to the ground last time when he fell and the thought of seeing the man come so near to tumbling off that precipice causes Simon to tense up. Losing concentration, he forgets to slacken off the rope, resulting in an angry shout from Jayne.

"Hey! You asleep up there?"

Simon pays out a little more of the line, willing Jayne to reach the bottom safely and the relief he feels at hearing the words, "your turn now, Doc," is tantamount to spontaneous orgasm.

Without wasting any time, he lowers the backpacks one by one, then having checked the line to see that it's securely fastened, he begins his descent, searching for suitable fissures and making his way down the rock face at a fast but comfortable pace. Maybe he should have taken climbing up as a sport rather than skiing. He never showed this much prowess at physical activities when he was at school.

They're only a short distance away from the edge of the forest now. Jayne reaches an arm around Simon, giving his cock a sneaky squeeze before fumbling in his pants pocket and stealing back the pair of binoculars. His lips fleetingly graze the soft skin beneath Simon's ear and Simon shivers with pleasure.

"It'd be a sight quicker if we cross through the forest." Jayne has the glasses up to his eyes and is studying the landscape. "I ain't certain how safe it'll be though."

Adrenaline buzz diminishing fast, Simon suddenly realises how tired he actually is. Pains are beginning to shoot up each leg, the regenerating tissue in his feet crying out after so much extreme exercise. "How much quicker?" he asks, weighing up the pros and cons of a longer, safer walk over a trek through the woods.

"Can't tell. Wasn't planning on taking this route. Was hoping the pass would be open and the mule would take us across."

In the heat of the moment Simon's forgotten about the abandoned transporter but now he's been reminded of it, a sudden wave of grief overwhelms him.

"Tired, _xin gan_?"

Simon nods, propping himself up against Jayne's solid body, too ashamed to admit he's in mourning for a heap of junker metal.

Jayne slides an arm around Simon's shoulders and with his free hand continues to scout out the territory. "I reckon we gotta head for the forest," he says. "We can make camp for the night and then set out on fresh legs at dawn."

Simon's so thankful for this decision he could burst into happy tears. He doesn't want to make a fuss, but can feel the emotion building and knows that he's only seconds away from falling apart.

This new track is more lethal than any other path they've encountered so far on the journey. The speedy approach of dusk is making it harder to spot the hazardous patches of loose shingle and both of them fall several times on the way down. Jayne ends up with the knees of his cargo pants shredded and some deep grazes and it's only the sniper gloves that save Simon from causing more injury to his scarred palms.

By the time the slope levels out and scrub grass turns back into heavy tangled undergrowth, both of them are too exhausted to even speak to each other. The backpack is digging into Simon's shoulders and his leg muscles are on the point of rebellion, but he follows Jayne obediently, knowing that the man can be relied on to do what's best.

Finally they come to a clearing in the undergrowth on the edge of the tree line, "the perfect place to bivouac," according to Jayne, and having removed his gloves and heaved off his pack, Simon squats down by the small stream, dipping his hand in the water and letting it run through his open fingers.

"'M off to fetch some firewood," says Jayne, dumping his bag and then wheeling around.

"Okay." Simon's still entranced by the tiny rivulet and because of it his reply is vacant. The area surrounding Gainsborough was fertile farming land, but they never discovered a river nearby during their stay, although truthfully they didn't venture too far from the farmhouse. It had been enough of a joy to just be able to _live_.

The running water is so different to those stagnant, black-mirror pools inside the mountain and, glancing furtively over his shoulder, Simon cups a handful and sips at it, enjoying the sweet, fresh taste. Jayne would doubtless tell him off for doing this. He'd warn Simon grouchily about the dangers of poison or disease then slap the hand away from his mouth. Simon would reprimand him for being over-protective and they'd kiss, tongues fucking wantonly against each other, seeking out more interesting ways to satisfy their need.

Once the lanterns have been lit Simon clears a suitable area for a fire, surrounding it with smooth stones. He then has a quick strip wash in the stream and by the time Jayne returns is lying half-naked, _impatient_, on a bed of zipped together sleeping bags, wondering if the stream _has_ been poisoned -- with aphrodisiac rather than anything more sinister.

"Jayne," he breathes, stalking the mercenary who's kneeling down and laying a neat fire within the circle of stones.

Running his hands over Jayne's flanks he then strokes upward and massages the man's shoulders and neck.

"Thought you was tired."

But Jayne's voice is low and rumbling and so full of dirty intent that Simon sucks in a breath, knowing that without question they're going to end up fucking themselves to sleep tonight. Hands shaking, he fumbles with the buckle of Jayne's gun belt.

"Leave that on for now," says Jayne as he flicks the wheel of his lighter until it flames, damp kindling sputtering then finally catching alight.

Simon does as he's told. Undoing Jayne's pants, he shoves anxiously at them until he has that big cock in his hand, slipping wet and eager through his loose fist. It's always a thrill to be fucking out in the open and pushing down his shorts Simon nestles his aching erection insistently against Jayne's butt. The mercenary, however, is not in the mood for playing bottom and with the fire now lit in _every_ kind of way, he wrestles Simon, rolling him over across the damp grass and onto the softness of the sleeping bags, systematically ridding them both of their clothing. Unfastening his gun belt, Jayne lays it by his side, making sure that the pack containing his spare gun is also close at hand. "Gotta be careful," he says by way of explanation.

As Jayne covers him, Simon breathes in sweat and gun oil, things that have come to be the biggest turn on ever, and thrusting his erection upwards, he idly analyses the connotations of the mercenary's last words.

If he were female then being 'careful' would imply the use of contraceptives. He imagines himself as a woman, his belly swollen with Jayne's baby, and, far from being a repugnant thought, it actually arouses him even more, fluid dribbling in steady waves from his piss slit. Slightly horrified by his extreme reaction to this idea Simon sniggers.

"What's so funny, Doc?" Jayne stills, the relentless grinding of erection against erection coming to an unsatisfactory halt.

"Just some crazy thoughts." Simon runs his hand reassuringly up Jayne's scarred arm.

"Moonbrained like your sis," laughs Jayne.

"Worse," admits Simon with a bashful smile.

"Then I better find some way of distracting you from what's going on inside that _feng le_ head of yours," says Jayne. "Got any slick?"

Simon's not only brought lube and condoms with him on the journey, but he also has them close at hand--the way Jayne keeps his weapons--and with a blush on his face he reaches under the top layer of sleeping bag and passes Jayne a tube of lubricant and the pack of rubbers.

"Fuck! You give me the horn so bad," mutters Jayne, tearing open a wrapper and then grimacing as he slides the condom over his distended _ji ba_.

Simon watches the show, enjoying the sight of Jayne fondling his swollen cock. Indulging once again in his transgender fantasy, he lifts his legs, hissing in a gasp of air as wet gel makes contact with the tender skin of his anus then moaning with pleasure as Jayne stretches him open with those calloused fingers.

Jayne leans over him, eyes devilish in the glow of the firelight. "Tell me how much you want me," he says, his fingers opening and closing in rhythmic fashion, tips grazing the surface of Simon's prostate.

"Want you so bad. Want your cock in me. Need your cock. Need you."

"S'okay, pretty man, you got me."

With one pile-driver thrust Jayne's inside Simon, filling him up with agony and ecstasy and the whole gamut of feelings in between. Slick and loose, ready for everything Jayne can throw at him, the fantasy of being a woman comes to life in his head. It's only when Jayne reaches for Simon's cock, squeezing it tight and pulling him off with these gorgeously slow strokes that he _knows_ he's in the right body, with the right lover fucking him.


	14. Chapter 14

Simon's dreams are darker and more mysterious than usual, full of sinister images and forest sounds: low feral snarls, soft padding of feet and the snapping of twigs. A howl wakes him and he reaches out to curl his arm around Jayne's body, but all he catches is a hint of warm, hairy skin escaping his fingers.

"_Bi zui!_"

Fully roused he sits up, naked inside the sleeping bag, and in the muted flicker sees dark shapes and the eerie pinpoints of fire-glow eyes surrounding them.

Half-dressed in a pair of army pants, Jayne is crouching behind a jagged tree stump, his revolver at the ready. "Get over here," he orders.

Struggling into his shorts--because somehow that seems of vital importance--Simon straps on his gun belt then sneaks a hand into his backpack, hunting for ammunition. He should know where it is at all times.

"Stop rutting around and get your butt here now, Doc," hisses Jayne.

Simon's learned how to fire his revolver with efficiency, but hardly ever at night and never when he's overrun by panic, sweat seeping down over gooseflesh skin. He kneels, holding the piece exactly as Jayne's taught him, remembering to breathe, remembering to place his shots with care.

A second territorial howl signifies that the hunt is on and a dark river of bodies creeps single file toward them. Simon's heart thuds dully in his chest and as he takes aim, the retort of Jayne's Colt and consequent yowl signifies that one of the wolves is down. Enraged, the pack charges forward; Simon counts at least half a dozen animals and, shaking with fear, he fires and misses.

Jayne, however, doesn't. Precise and cool, he picks off the wolves until, with heads down, the remainder of the pack turns and races back to the cover of the forest.

Simon's never felt such relief. Shivering from cold he scurries back to the main area of their encampment, pulling on clothes and boots as quickly as he can.

Jayne doesn't move, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the dark tree line ahead of him. "Stoke the fire," he says as he reloads and adjusts his position slightly to a more comfortable one.

When the animals come at them again Simon's unprepared for the fear that packs a punch to his guts, but this time he pulls himself together enough to wound one of the lead wolves in the shoulder.

"_Ni tama de tianxia suoyou de ren duo gaisi,_" snarls Jayne when his gun malfunctions and as Simon looks up from reloading he sees one of the animals take a leap over the fallen trunk in front of them.

The creature is big and powerful, but Jayne's quick with his knife, so quick that Simon can hardly tell what's going on. He fires his revolver blindly at the rest of the pack then swings around to try and stop the wolf that's taken Jayne down without killing his lover in the process.

A sob escapes Simon's throat as the tangle of bodies slumps lifelessly over to one side. His eyes fog with tears and the useless, fucking hand that's holding his useless, fucking pistol shakes like a quivering leaf, but then Jayne emerges, wild-eyed and bloody and everything in the verse shines brightly again.

Reaching for his spare revolver the big man turns to face the one animal that remains alive, ready for attack, head up and fangs bared in a snarl. "Come on, you rutting sumbitch. Try take me if'n you dare."

Looking sideways Simon notices that Jayne's upper lip is twisted into a lupine sneer and his eyes are glittering with excitement. He wishes he could understand the thrill of battle but knows he never will. He might be tougher than before, but he'll always be more suited to saving lives on an operating table.

Aware that it's beaten, the wolf turns and slopes off into the darkness, retreating into the safety of the forest and Simon almost feels sorry for it. Family gone, it's now destined to live out the rest of its days alone. He wouldn't wish that on any creature, not even a Reaver.

Jayne remains on alert but moves closer to the fire, leaning up against a boulder and freeing the cylinder pin of his Colt.

"Did you get bitten?" asks Simon as he squats next to the big man, wiping away the blood with a wet cloth.

Jayne looks up at him, blue eyes contrasting fiercely with his gore-streaked face. Half-naked and barefoot he resembles a native warrior more than a mercenary soldier. "Some," he says, holding out his left forearm for examination.

The bites have reopened old wounds. "There's barely anything left but bone," jokes Simon as he cleans it gently, running an antiseptic wipe over the bleeding tissue. "You'll have to offer up some other body part for gnawing on soon."

Jayne reaches out with the fingers of his right hand and touches Simon's own scars. "S'been a hard few months that's for gorram sure."

"But we're alive," says Simon, planting a quick kiss on Jayne's forehead, "and I wouldn't change a thing."

*

Battered and bloody from the previous day's excitement, they set out at first light, both of them dog tired but eager to get this journey over with.

"At least then we'll _know_," says Simon as he tramps behind Jayne, actually enjoying the hike through the forest. It may be dangerous terrain but it's beautiful: dense and cool, smelling of sweet foliage and cleanliness.

"Yep."

Jayne understands. It's the 'not-knowing' that's been getting them both down: more than facing the horrors of a new town, more than the idea of having to leave this small backwater of theirs. At least then they'll be able to make plans -- one way or another.

After a few hours walking the trees begin to thin out and it's obvious to even an inexperienced outdoorsman like Simon that they're approaching the boundaries of the forest.

"It ain't the route I planned," says Jayne as he stands on a plinth of stone and uses his field glasses to survey the area, "and it may have been a mite tricky, but it was a gorram speedy way of getting here."

Simon climbs up next to him and looks down into the valley. Spreading out before them lie several small clusters of buildings, nowhere near the size of Gainsborough, but, most definitely, the small mining community they've been looking for. He can't believe the journey was so easy. Swinging around, Simon looks back at the dense forest and the ominous mountain range and realises that getting back home won't be such a simple business if it proves to be necessary.

"Best pick up the pace if you don't wanna get left behind, Doc." Jayne grins back at him, already tramping down the slope.

Simon jumps down from the rock platform and breaks into jog, pains in his feet forgotten, the long grass swatting at his shins as he catches up to Jayne and tries to keep up with those long-legged strides.

The sun beams down on them, buttery yellow and portentous. Things are going to be okay, thinks Simon and he breaks into a smile as they continue down the hill, eventually reaching the road which connects Hartford with the ore mine in the mountains.

A naïve part of him is hoping for this pleasant atmosphere to flourish, but it evaporates the moment they come upon a scattering of human bones. As they approach the town precincts the skeletal remains increase in number, bodies lining up in ranks at the sides of the track.

"Probably too old or too mangled for Reavers to butcher for meat," says Jayne in offhand manner, his emotions guarded.

The first buildings they come to are nothing more than broken down shacks, home to the poorer members of the community.

"Working the seams ain't a way to get rich," says Jayne. "It's the bosses who are the earners."

Simon remembers his grandfather owning a large amount of stock in one of the big industrial chemical companies. In the past he'd always been relieved it wasn't Blue Sun, but now that guilt seems to have spread its wing tips a little wider.

"It's a good bet most of 'em wasted all their coin in the town bars 'though," continues Jayne as he sifts through rubbish and the few remaining personal items. "Booze has a way of helping to numb the pain."

One hovel is much the same as any other, but they search them all carefully, looking for that unlikely needle hidden inside a haystack. There's no point in them making the journey if they go about this half-heartedly and at least they don't have to deal with a putrefied mass of bodies the way they did in Gainsborough.

"I sure as hell weren't gonna be no wage slave," mutters Jayne, continuing his soliloquy as he kicks open a cupboard only to find it empty of everything but cobwebs.

Simon can picture that confused teenager trying to figure out how to make his way in the verse. "So what did you do when you left home?" he asks.

"Learned to track. Learned to shoot." Jayne folds his arms in defiant manner. "Learned how to rob and kill folk."

Simon doesn't rise to the bait.

They move on, leaving the derelict shanty town behind them. Rooks caw from the nearby treetops and one of the birds swoops down to settle on a painted wooden sign, gazing plaintively at them with coal black eyes.

The painted letters on the board are faded, but Simon can make out the name, 'Hartford' and above it the words Balliol Chemical Corporation. This was a company town full of company people -- most likely left to their own rough and ready devices by the Alliance and the inhabitants of Gainsborough alike.

Skeletons continue to litter the roadside, picked clean by carrion-eaters and bleached white by the sun until they're almost perfect enough to be displayed in a glass case at medical school. Occasionally, Simon steps on small shards on bone and the crunch doesn't sicken him as much as it should.

"Do they feel anything?" says Jayne when they arrive at the charred remains of the first town building. "Reavers, I mean," he clarifies when Simon looks puzzled. Kicking through the debris the mercenary uncovers a sign which reads 'Balliol Assay' and kicks it disconsolately to one side. "I don't see no point to a life like that."

Simon clears the grit from his dry throat. "I don't understand it any better than you," he says. He wishes so much this could be explained away by means of a virus, but their experiences have proved conclusively that this is not the case.

As they enter the main part of the town both men are taken aback by the sheer level of destruction. The place is a junkyard of looted items, most of them smashed to smithereens. There's even an old leather swivel chair dumped unceremoniously upside down in an old horse trough, the red and white pole hanging above a nearby doorway indicating that it must have belonged to the town barber.

Leaving their backpacks in a doorway, they split up, each of them taking one side of the street to explore. Simon walks through the boneyard buildings, hand resting vigilantly on his right hip, boot leather aging with each step from a fine layer of grey dust. As he wanders from one scene of devastation to another, gloom settles over him like that grimy residue of human powder. Shouldn't he be more pleased? Surely this is the outcome he's been wishing for? His happy ending.

Discovering the town registry, he harbours a faint hope of finding some form of working communication device. Responsible for registering all legal transactions that took place in Hartford, the Notary Public _must_ have had access to the Cortex, but as Simon sifts through the office wreckage and moves on to piles of paperwork on the varnished oak desk it becomes apparent that the person holding the title here did little more than record details in a leather-bound book then hand out pre-signed certificates.

Simon sits at the desk and stares at the unused pad in front of him. Picking up the pen he scratches his name onto the paper, ink long since dried up making his spidery handwriting almost invisible. 'Jayne Cobb,' he scrawls on the line below, wondering if the man has another, even more bizarre, middle name.

"Folks here put a fight. They made their stand in the bar just across the street. Took what women and children there were into the back and did their best to defend them. Course it weren't ever gonna be enough."

Shocked from the unexpected intrusion, Simon looks up at his lover, eyes shifting from side to side with embarrassment as he rips the legal certificate from its pad then folds it into four, hiding the guilty secret deep inside his pocket.

"It's a mess over there," continues Jayne. "Nothing left of the place. Ain't found a way to send a wave neither." He looks hopefully around the Notary's office. "How about you?"

Simon shakes his head somberly.

"Space dock's intact though. Reavers must've figured they might find use for it. " Jayne brightens visibly. "And there's a whorehouse out back of the bar," he says with a leer. "Reckon we should stay there while we try to figure out what to do next. Could be kinda dirty."

"You always think with your cock," laughs Simon, his hand imperceptibly edging down to caress the front of his pants as he imagines how _very_ dirty it may turn out to be.

"You're a one to talk." A smile twitches the corners of Jayne's mouth. "Wanna see the kind of fun stuff they got in there?"

Simon lurches to his feet, the chair scuttling away across the floor behind him like an oversized beetle. "Show me," he says, his voice coming out as gritty as before, this time the huskiness more to do with sex rather than dust.

Injuries forgotten, he matches Jayne stride for stride as they jostle each other out of the way, elbows jabbing, fingers grabbing -- all part of their foreplay. Across the street and down a narrow passageway they race, skin scraping against brickwork, and in contrast to this dead place Simon overflows with life, blood pumping, sweat trickling as he pushes with every iota of his being to _win_. The passage opens out into an enclosed yard and for a second Simon loses his bearings. Jayne feints a move to the left in the direction of an exit and Simon overtakes him, but then with a loud guffaw of laughter, the mercenary turns and heads for a wooden staircase.

Frustrated at being outmanoeuvered by such a simple play, Simon reaches out and makes a grab for Jayne's belt, but misses, almost falling flat on his face. Resigned now to losing the race, he follows on at a more sedate pace and he's looking to his right, checking out the less-than-subtle signage on the front of the whorehouse when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots an old-fashioned satellite rig attached to the side wall. _Wo de ma!_ Could this be what they're looking for? The building is obscured from the main drag of the town and maybe, just maybe…

"Jayne," he gasps as he stomps up the steps, his footsteps thudding dully on the thick wooden treads.

"Don't worry, Doc." Jayne yanks hard on Simon's arms, dragging him closer. "I won't make you pay too hard for coming in as loser. Though I ain't forgotten what you said about needing a spanking."

Muffled by a mouthful of Jayne's jacket Simon struggles to break free. "Get off me, you oversized _chun ren._"

Jayne lets go, obvious taken aback by Simon's words, a hurt expression appearing on his face.

"Sorry, _ai ren,_ but look." Simon points to the rusted dish protruding from the wall. "Did the Reavers find this place? Is it looted?" A million questions become tangled up on his tongue. "Did you see a transmitter inside?"

Jayne doesn't waste any more time with pointless talk. In a second of being shown the satellite dish he's charging through the entrance with Simon following close on his heels. The brothel is overflowing with gaudy furnishings, brightly coloured drapes adorn the windows and there are a number of long, low daybeds for customers to lounge on while they're waiting to be serviced. The first private area they come to is a kitchen and leaving Jayne to explore it more thoroughly Simon heads for the staircase.

He's halfway up when the mercenary calls from below, "'s'just bedrooms and bathrooms up there. I checked it out last time I was here. Nothing in the galley neither."

Frustrated by their lack of success, Simon's on the point of giving up when he hears this loud exclamation of surprise. Wheeling around, he sees to his delight that Jayne has discovered an obscured doorway at the far end of the linear reception area, its decoration matching the walls exactly.

"Looks like we may've found what we was looking for. The madam here must've kept her rooms secret so no one would break in and rob her."

"Rob her of what?" Simon's confused.

Jayne laughs. "This place most likely made a mint of cashy money. Whores ain't cheap, you know and there'd've been plenty of fellers wanting a regular thrust."

The private rooms consist of a bedroom and bathroom, a living area and, hidden away to the very rear, an office.

"_Wo kao!_" says Jayne as, simultaneously, they catch sight of the telegraph machine housed in a cabinet. "Maybe them space freighters do still use high frequency."

Simon's nonplussed. Isn't it a rather wild coincidence there being another antiquated machine on this planetoid? "What would a brothel keeper be doing sending telegraph signals?" he asks.

Jayne looks at him as if he's stupid. "Rim worlds are a whole lot different to the central planets, Doc. This is how she would've drummed up passing trade," he says as he frowns at the controls, puzzling out how to turn it on. "If you'd've been stuck out in the black for a while then read one of her messages, you'd drop landing gear quick smart." His eyes shine brightly with amusement. "Both kinds I reckon."

A quick flick of the switch results in nothing and when Jayne checks the lights and finds that the power is off Simon remembers the battle they had supplying the farmhouse with electricity.

"It ain't a problem, Doc," says Jayne when he sees Simon begin to fret. "There's a generator in a storage shed out back of the kitchen. Plenty of fuel too. Gimme a second and I'll have it all fired up."

He leaves the room, doors banging behind him as if a hurricane's passing through the bordello and Simon takes advantage of this moment of solitude to examine his feelings. There's no guarantee their plan will work, but if it does then he and Jayne can get away from here, back home to Serenity. A whisper of happiness threads its way through him like smoke and he collapses back onto the soft cushions of the couch, filled with visions of escape. Then, in the distance, comes the unmistakable sound of a generator roaring into life and, almost immediately, the lights flicker on.

"Moment of truth," says Jayne from the doorway, his gaze alternating between the Simon and the telegraph machine. "D'you wanna try it?"

Simon shakes his head, worried that he might truly be the Jonah that Mal Reynolds implied when he first bought passage on Serenity. "Have you used one of these before?" he asks, trying to erase all thoughts of jinxes.

"Yeah, but it was a hell of a long time ago." Jayne reluctantly shuffles closer as if the machine's about to take a bite out of him and reaching out warily, he flicks the power switch. The display bursts into life and for a minute the man stares blankly at the keys, then he thaws, his fingers running over the dials. "Ain't certain about waving someone on this thing but I know there's a setting to send out a distress signal." He stabs at a series of buttons then looks around at Simon with a bemused expression on his face. "Reckon I done it, Doc."

Simon is equally as bewildered. "What do we do now?"

Jayne shrugs. "Guess we just wait and see if someone waves us back."

It's possibly the worst moment of anticlimax that Simon has ever experienced. All that soul-searching and trepidation should have culminated in something far more impressive than this. "Hungry?" he asks, for want of anything better to say.

"Too tired," says Jayne. "There's clean water here. 'M gonna grab me a shower and then hit the sack. Feel as if I could sleep for a week."

*

Next morning Simon finds Jayne in the office, keeping himself occupied by breaking into the madam's safe. "Any messages?" he asks, knowing long before he speaks that the answer is no.

Jayne shakes his head and concentrates on what he's doing. "She should've got herself a better quality lock box," he says triumphantly when the door springs open. "I ain't lost my touch."

The platinum is stacked high. "It's a shame we haven't got anywhere to spend it," says Simon, suddenly remembering the wad of bank drafts stuffed away inside a pocket of his backpack. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the gilded over-mantel mirror he's taken aback by how much he's changed. He's turned into a filthy, rich, unkempt, mountain man. "You know that barber's shop across the street?" he says, lifting thick strands away from his head in disgust. "Do you think you could cut my hair for me?" It would be nothing short of mortifying to be rescued in this state.

"Depends how you wanna end up," says Jayne dubiously.

"Less like a hobo?"

Jayne stands at Simon's shoulder and stares into the glass. "Can see what you mean," he says, eyeing his own image through narrowed eyes. "I ain't looking too good myownself."

Simon disagrees; he loves Jayne's hair, which is long and wavy, starting to recede a little but still thick and dark. He likes to grab hold of it when Jayne's going down on him. He likes the feel of it against his skin when they're fucking. "But-"

"If'n you get to have yours cut then so do I."

Slipping to his knees and unfastening Jayne's fly, Simon wonders how strange it will feel to have short hair again.

"If we both have shaved heads we'll look like convicts on the run," he says then he goes back to work, swirling his tongue around the knob of Jayne's cock, safe in the knowledge that he's won.

*

Simon checks the telegraph machine after breakfast and, again, before they leave the bordello.

"It ain't a highly populated part of the verse," says Jayne as he pulls on his boots.

That's true enough. Simon remembers looking at the quadrant charts as they were coming in to land. He'd never seen so many unlisted, unpopulated rocks in his life. "Come on," he says, eager to see if the barber shop has any contents left intact.

The smell wafting from the piles of old garbage is musty with an underlying hint of putrid, but Simon has no intention of clearing up another backwater town unless it becomes absolutely necessary. It amuses him that the barber bothered to put up a red and white pole outside his tiny business, that symbol of tradition now hanging off the wall and swaying precariously from side to side in the slight breeze.

A sign, laid on its side on the step, spells out a list of the services once offered here -- services that rather gruesomely hark back to Earth-That-Was history. According to the board, the barber also doubled as town dentist and could perform minor operations if necessary.

"This… this… is barbaric," Simon stammers, looking at Jayne through eyes that are round with incredulity.

"It ain't unusual." The big man strides through the doorway and begins ridding the tiny room of some of its trash, a piece of broken countertop flying through the smashed window.

"Watch out!" yells Simon, narrowly avoiding the airborne debris.

"Sorry, Doc." Jayne's busy sorting through the items that are strewn all over the linoleum floor. "Got us a set of clippers," he says, waving a dusty box in the air.

Once they find a way to power up the place, Simon begins to wonder exactly how easy it is to shave a head. Jayne, however, seems unconcerned by the minor details and is busy oiling up the clippers, so to take his mind off his worries Simon sits down on an upturned storage crate and squints at the old newspapers which cover the floor. It's only when hair starts to fall onto the paper that he realises Jayne has begun to cut away his long locks with a pair of scissors.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asks nervously.

"Nope. But I did shear a sheep once if'n that makes you feel any better."

It doesn't. In fact Simon begins to feel increasingly apprehensive especially now Jayne's full of himself and laughing away like a hyena. The worst thing of all is not having a mirror in front of him. At least then he'd know what Jayne was cackling about. Soon the clippers buzz into life and Simon closes his eyes, trying not to think about what a _feng le_ idea this is and wincing as tufts of hair get caught up in the blades.

Finally the clippers are switched off and Jayne smoothes a palm over Simon's cropped head. "All finished, Doc. Done a pretty fine job of it too."

As Jayne takes a step back, eyes shining with approval, Simon hunts around on the floor for a shard of mirror that's big enough to be useable. It's hard to get the full picture in a piece of glass two inches by five, but Simon is immediately shocked by the change. Copying Jayne he runs a hand, back and forth, across the bristles. "I look…" His sentence peters out as he becomes stumped for words. He's never had his hair this short before and it's certainly different, it makes him _feel_ so very different.

"You look good enough to eat," says Jayne with a dirty grin.

Simon wriggles; his back and neck itch uncomfortably and he can't wait to climb into a hot shower. Getting to his feet he heads for the doorway, brushing his shoulders clean.

"You truly ain't gonna do me then?"

Jayne sounds petulant and Simon smiles, shaking his head in an emphatic 'no.' "I'll do you later," he says imagining the way the sex will play out, Jayne kneeling on the bed pliant and needy with Simon powering into him from behind. It'll be good. It's _always_ good.

"Least I can give myself a good shave while I'm here." Jayne's sullenness slips away, the pouch full of cut-throat razors a consolation if the expression on his face is anything to go by. "Shiny," he says, checking out his new toys one by one.

The itch crawling across Simon's back is continuing to drive him crazy. "I'll see you back at the bordello," he says. "Don't be long."

"Gonna do some looting after I finish up here. See what I can see." Jayne's fingers twitch avariciously and sunlight glints off the open razor blade, making patterns on the walls. "Keep an eye out for messages while-"

 

Simon's out of the barber's shop long before Jayne's sentence has ended. Charging up wooden steps, he throws open the door of the whorehouse and after a cursory glance at the silent telegraph machine he then heads for the bathroom, shucking off his clothes in a desperate act of striptease.

The soap is pungent, almost acrid to his nostrils, but it's better than any of the floral scented gels that are lined up in the wire tray. As he lathers his body clean then runs a hand upward through newly shorn hair, the bristles subside into soft wet spikes and he smiles a slow smile of relief.

Shaving meticulously, Simon rinses his face then wraps himself in one of the thick bathrobes that have been packaged ready for clients to purchase. He towels his hair then sits at the dressing table, chin resting on laced fingers, and, after a minute or so spent in silent contemplation, he speaks to the reflection that's staring back at him from behind the illuminated glass. "You look like a real man again, Doctor Tam." Something's different though; he might be clean and neat with cheeks as smooth as a baby's, but he's leaner and harder now -- almost unrecognisable from the person who arrived here all those seasons ago.

Without thinking, Simon picks up a tube of lipstick from the collection of make up that's neatly arranged in a pink wicker basket. Removing the lid he twists at the casing until a tapered shaft of red appears which, instinctively, he smears over his lips. It feels strange, greasy with a chemical sweetness, and as he gazes at his altering image, a growing sense of curiosity develops.

Outlining each eye with a kohl pencil he highlights the thickness of his eyelashes with mascara then selects one of the wigs which decorate the audience of mannequin heads seated on the chest of drawers next to him. The long red hair slides into place and, looking up, he shivers with excitement. Simon Tam is gone.

It takes a while to find clothes that suit. He has no intention of shaving any part of his body; he just wants to transform for a short while in order to prolong this fantasy. The basques and brassieres are hopeless, only serving to emphasise his lack of breasts, but a pair of French knickers sit nicely on his hips, the silk feeling highly erotic as it glides, slippery smooth, against his sensitised cock.

"Oh god," he moans. This is, without doubt, the dirtiest thing he's ever done.

The nightgown slips over him like water, coming to rest at mid-thigh, and with one thin strap sliding off his shoulder and the prominent bulge of his erection distending the material, he looks more wanton than he could ever have imagined possible. The urge to masturbate into the silk is intense and so, to take his mind off his arousal, Simon sprawls across the bed and delves into one of the novels he brought with him from the public library in Gainsborough. At first he's too worked up to do anything other than read the same paragraph over and over again, but the words inevitably draw him in and soon he becomes lost inside Hardy's Wessex.

"_Wo de tian a!_"

Simon jerks in surprise and rolls over onto his back, the book sliding off the bedspread and falling onto the floorboards with a dull thump. Breath hitches in his throat as Jayne kneels before him, mouthing eagerly at his silk-encased balls and hardening cock, and as the material becomes wet with saliva, Simon lets out this loud moan of delight.

"My pretty whore," says Jayne, looking up at him lasciviously. "Gonna fuck you so hard, _baobei_. Gonna fuck you so hard you see them stars up in the black."

Jayne crawls up him, kissing away the scarlet lipstick with determined swipes of his mouth and Simon bucks upward in delight. The auburn wig is tugged free and deliberately tossed aside and it's then that he knows for certain that his big masculine lover isn't hankering after any girl. The sound of the negligee being ripped into pieces is even more erotic than the feel of it resting against his skin and when Jayne, once again, leans down to lick at his crotch, Simon's already close to orgasm, gasping as a pulse of pre-come wets the inside of his knickers.

"These can stay," says Jayne, looking up with a grin, then, spreading Simon's legs, he wriggles his tongue between silk and skin, searching out that tiny pucker of muscle.

Naked now, except for those loose, black panties, Simon lies on the bed, knees raised and brazenly parted, letting Jayne go to work on him. Weighted down by layers of thick mascara his eyelids fall shut, but then there's a sudden, alien sensation and he jolts forward, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at Jayne.

"Trust me, this is gonna feel better than any finger." Jayne's hand is moving, he's holding some kind of small object, and 'though Simon can't see clearly what's going on, his excitement mounts as the probing sensation becomes more intense by the second.

"Better than a cock?" he asks teasingly, his voice husky with desire.

"Ain't nothing better than a cock up there." Jayne grins then sits back on his haunches while he fiddles with the settings on the butt plug.

Suddenly Simon lurches back onto the bed, a flurry of vibrations sending an electric charge surging through his body. Opening up wide he thrashes, canting his hips in order to take more of the toy inside him. At first his whole body bucks erratically, but he soon learns that if he reins in his movements he can control the sensations passing through him.

"Oh god, fuck, _fuck_," he moans. His cock throbs stiff and wet against his belly, thicker and harder than it's ever been as it nudges at the elastic waistband of his panties. "_Please_." But Jayne is relentless: easing off as the pleasure becomes too great, trapping thin wrists against the pillow when Simon reaches down to jerk off.

The sensations intensify until he's heaving off the bed, twisting and rubbing himself against any part of Jayne he can make contact with. "Please. Fuck, please."

He's going to come. He's going to come in thick spurts spoiling the inside of his French knickers. He's going to come without his prick even being touched. He's going to come now.

"_Made!_"

All of a sudden he's encased in a hot, wet vacuum and it's such perfect release from the agonizing ecstasy he's been going through that he cries out in delight. The vibrator continues to tease his prostate as Jayne sucks him hard, lips and tongue working to drive Simon ever closer to nirvana. He's rigid and panting and he can't remember a time when anything else was more important than _this_. When he climaxes, every molecule in his body ringing like a bell, it's with certain knowledge that he'll never willingly give Jayne up, not for anyone.

"You're something special alright," says Jayne and there's a hint of wonder there that rouses Simon from his post-orgasmic daze. "If'n I hadn't been wearing this I would've come right along with you."

Simon looks up lazily and as he watches Jayne undress he sees that a black studded band is wrapped around the man's balls, restraining the root of his cock within its firm strapping. His erection rises purple and angry from the tight leather ring, urgent with the need for release and it looks so painfully delicious that Simon licks at dry lips.

"Y'okay for me to fuck you?"

A few seconds ago Simon was sleepy and well-sated, but the sight of that fierce-looking cock excites him mentally and he can't wait to feel it inside him.

"God, yes," he says, "but take it easy on me, _ai ren._" He's still a little sore from the vibrator.

Jayne preps himself with slick then rolls Simon over until he's resting comfortably on his left side. Letting out this engorged sigh of absolute satisfaction he spoons up behind, adjusting the lie of the loose panties then easing his swollen _ji ba_ inside. The sex that follows is nothing like Simon expects. Jayne's cock--which earlier had looked so desperate--fills him, slowly and surely, with gentle pleasure. Jayne treats him with the utmost care, mouthing kisses onto the back of his neck and fucking him with deep, slow rolls of the hips.

"You alright?" The whispered words are breathy against Simon's right ear, making his nipples peak and his skin erupt into gooseflesh.

"Couldn't be more so," he answers with a smile, reaching behind him for Jayne's hand and folding it over his soft, silken cock.

*

A month and a few days later, Simon's checking the telegraph when he notices something different from usual. The screen is blinking, a blur of flashing orange scrolling across the display panel, and as the lights fade in and out he becomes frantic. What if the machine dies on them before they have a chance to respond?

"Jayne!" He runs down the wooden steps across the yard and through the passageway. "Jayne!"

Jayne could be anywhere. The mercenary has to keep himself busy or else boredom leads to bad temper and because of this, whether it's whittling crude animals out of wood or cleaning out trashed buildings, he's always occupied with something. Once or twice Simon has come across him jerking off and that knowledge is a secret he's kept to himself, spying on the big man and watching him pull at his cock until he comes with an unabashed grunt of pleasure. Today, though, Simon couldn't care less what Jayne is doing. He eventually finds him in the tiny general store, sifting through their small stock of workmen's clothing.

"My pants are so wrecked they're about to split at the butt."

"I don't give a damn about your dishabille," snaps Simon. "Get back home quick."

"My dis ha what?" Jayne frowns.

"The state of your clothing, but never mind that now. I think there's been a wave from someone."

Again, they race each other across the street and through the alleyway that leads to the brothel, but this time Simon is yelling all the way and it has nothing to do with sex.

"The machine seems to be faulty. It's flickering on and off. What do we do if it's broken?"

These sentences are interspersed by breathless gasps as Simon pushes his body harder than he's ever done before. With an air of desperation, he launches himself into the office, almost falling over the couch in his attempt to break land speed records, then staring in dismay at the silent machine, he utters one hopeless word. "No."

Jayne strides forward, opening the glass door of the cabinet, and before Simon can stop him, he gives the casing of the machine a resounding thump with the meaty underside of his fist.

"No!" repeats Simon in horror. "What do you think you're…?" His sentence is left without a conclusion when the telegraph suddenly erupts into life. "How?" he says blankly.

"Something Kaylee learned me a while back." Jayne's grinning like a loon as he reads the answer to his distress signal. "Number one way to get an engine going is to teach it who's boss."

Simon's about to describe the many ways in which a spaceship engine and a delicate piece of communication equipment differ from each other, when he realises how pointless this would be. Instead, he looks over Jayne's shoulder and watches as those thick fingers poke out a return message on the keys. "What's happening?" he asks impatiently.

"Freighter's passing by on its way to Augustine. Gonna reach here tomorrow. I said, yes to 'em picking us up at the space dock." Jayne turns his head to look at Simon, blue eyes containing a hint of curiosity and something slightly more ambiguous. "That is what you want, ain't it?"

"It is," says Simon. "Yes. Oh god, yes, it really is." Filled with elation he grabs Jayne, hauling him into his arms and dragging him around the room in an unsteady, ungainly waltz, ignoring the horrified expression on the other man's face.

Tripping over a small side table they collapse onto the couch in a rumpled heap. Simon untangles himself then pushing Jayne onto his back, he straddles that big, solid body he's grown to love so much. "Just think, _ai ren_, by tomorrow evening we're going to be somewhere else." He laughs uproariously then comes to his senses when he notices the somber expression on Jayne's face. "This is what you want too, isn't it?"

Jayne looks up at him, facial muscles relaxing and then morphing into a toothy grin. "I reckon so," he says. "I've about had my fill of one-horse towns and rabbit jerky."


	15. Chapter 15

The excitement builds to such fever pitch that night that Simon can't sleep. Even after waking Jayne twice for sex he's still left breathless with anticipation, his head a jumbled mess as he considers the consequences of escape.

By morning he's bleary-eyed and torturously tired and when Jayne wakes him with a ruthless nudge to the ribcage, he twists onto his back and glares grumpily up at his lover. "It can't be time to get up."

Jayne snorts with laughter. "It's time and then some, Doc. There's a mug of coffee on the nightstand. Now drink that and get your butt out of this bed so's you can help with the packing."

A glance at the oversized wall clock tells Simon that it's closer to dinner time than breakfast and, after gulping down the coffee, he takes an icy cold shower to wake himself up then finds some relatively unspoiled clothes to wear. He'd love to have some nicely tailored shirts and dress pants to put on. And a vest! Oh god, how he misses his vests. And soft leather shoes. It would be magical to slip his feet into something other than work boots for a change.

His backpack is stowed away in the closet and as he shoves a few pairs of shorts and socks into its recesses, filling up the remaining space in the bag with tee-shirts and cargo pants, his fingers fumble over the stack of paper that's hidden away inside. Why hasn't he ever told Jayne about the bank drafts? He's attempted this several times but at the last minute has always becomes tongue-tied with inexplicable fear. There's another guilty secret stashed beside the checks and as Simon touches it he wells up with emotion. River was right all along; he _is_ a boob.

After buckling his gun belt Simon hoists the backpack onto one shoulder and makes his way downstairs. Jayne's sitting hunched over on one of the day beds sifting listlessly through a pack of Tall cards. He looks up as Simon descends the stairs. "Ain't certain what we oughta take with us. What do you think?"

Simon shrugs. There should be _some_ evidence of their life spent together on this barren rock, but most of their belongings were left at the farm: the presents they'd given each other, the occasional handwritten notes. Maybe Jayne didn't keep any mementos. He doesn't seem like a memento kind of a man. "I suppose just clothes and weapons," he answers eventually. "Although I really don't know the etiquette of being rescued."

"Money to pay for passage," says Jayne bluntly. "That's 'bout all the 'etiquette' that freighter cap'n'll care about."

They're both too nervous to eat or fuck or do _anything_ but pace around and keep an eye out for a ship coming in to land.

"How big is a freighter?" Simon's leaning casually on one of the steel girders of the space dock, looking up at the sky, a hand shielding the glare of the sun from his eyes.

"Depends on how far it runs goods," says Jayne who's sucking on his very last stogie in celebration of finally leaving the planetoid.

The ship that touches down is a good amount smaller than a Firefly.

"Guess this one don't go too far," says Jayne, a wry smile on his face as he stomps out the cigar then hefts his backpack onto his shoulder. "C'mon then, Doc."

Simon watches apprehensively as the ramp extends out onto the narrow dockside and if Jayne hadn't already entered the belly of the ship he's almost certain he would have turned tail and run. Instead, he follows the mercenary inside where, overcome with awkwardness, he stands a few feet back from the group of men.

After a short discussion and an exchange of platinum, Jayne beckons Simon over where he catches a few off-putting words from the captain, a chunky dishevelled man at the far end of middle age.

"…here often for the whores. Lady kept a fine stable of girls."

Simon's glad he only came in to half the conversation, although he thinks it may be the wrong half.

Jayne tugs him closer. "This here's Doc Tam. Doc, this is Cap'n Günter and his men, Archer and Stevens."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

The two Neanderthal crewmen stare appraisingly at Simon for a moment then, without a word, they disappear into the bowels of the ship leaving him feeling foolish for being so ridiculously formal.

"What's an educated feller like you doing stuck on a rock this far out?" asks the captain curiously.

"They had a run of the fever here," says Jayne. "Needed a medic quicksmart and our skipper, being a soft kind of a _chun ren_, took a detour to help out. Then Reavers hit and you can figure the rest."

Sometimes Simon is scared of the way the lies drip so convincingly from Jayne's mouth, as sticky sweet as honey.

"That must've been hell hiding out from them vermin in a place like this," says Captain Günter.

Jayne's lips narrow into a severe line. "It weren't pleasant, that's for gorram sure. We was holed up in the mines with them for a while."

All three men wince simultaneously. Everyone living on the outskirts of the verse has, at some point, had a run in with Reavers. It forms a common bond amongst them.

"You fellers okay to share a bunk?" says Günter as the ship's engines rumble into life and he leads them through the reverberating steel passageways. "Got one vacant since my first mate got bound by law last run."

"Sharing's fine far as I'm concerned," says Jayne, winking crudely then wrapping an arm possessively around Simon's waist.

The captain stares hard at them then shrugs. "Not a problem." He pauses. "Though I ain't certain how they take to sly folk on Augustine. Funny lot they are. Don't have a liking for anything out of the ordinary."

Simon's taken aback by how open Jayne has been about their relationship, but finally he pulls himself together enough to ask the question that's been worrying him since they boarded. "We can send a wave from there?" He has visions of Augustine being one of those odd communities that shuns all form of technology.

"Oh, you can send a wave alright, but just don't try drinking, or getting fresh with the locals. That's how Grieves got in trouble last time he was there." Günter frowns. "Hoping I can get him out of jail this cycle. Don't like being a man down. Too much heavy lifting." They come to a halt at the far end of the fore passage. "This here's your bunk 'til we berth at Augustine in a couple of weeks."

The captain wrenches open a small hatchway and Simon peers inside at a room which is slightly less spacious than the average closet. A year ago he would have been horrified at the thought of being stuck in here with Jayne Cobb.

"Next food is at thirteen hundred," continues Günter. "Don't expect too much," and with those happy words he ambles away towards the aft end of the ship.

Simon steps inside the dirty cabin, letting out a shocked "_tianna,_" when he discovers how small it actually is. There are two platform bunks welded onto the bulkhead and, to the rear, a recessed wash area. Nothing else, not even a set of drawers. Simon's so taken aback he's beyond words, however, watching Jayne trying to squeeze his bulk through the narrow entrance is a priceless sight that improves his mood no end.

"This place made for midgets?" snarls the big man, throwing himself down on the bunk and, in doing so, smacking the back of his skull on the edge of the upper platform.

It's when Jayne attempts to lie down that Simon can't hold in the laughter any longer. The bed is so short that the mercenary has to curl into a tight foetal position with his knees hanging way over the edge.

Glowering at Simon's amusement Jayne sits up, banging his head once again in the process. "Ain't gonna get much sleeping done here."

"We can do other things," says Simon suggestively.

They may be stuck on a space ship that makes Serenity look like state of the art technology. They may be heading for a homophobic planet where the population probably burn books for a hobby. But at least they're no longer in Hartford.

*

After thirteen _long_ days barracked on board the Mariah, fucking becomes tedious and, instead, the two men pass the time by fighting often and furiously. Once, in front of the crew, Jayne threatens to land a punch to Simon's jaw and although he stops himself long before the fist comes close to making contact, Simon's left shaken.

Since then things have been awkward between them. Jayne never fails to talk down to him and make smutty remarks to the rest of the crew about their sex life which leaves Simon with an ever-expanding sense of discomfort.

"We'll be docking in four hours," says Captain Günter as crew and passengers sit along both sides of the steel counter, all but one of the men staring at the uninviting plates of protein in front of them.

"Ain't sorry to hear that," says Jayne, talking through a full mouth of stew. "'M grateful to you for rescuing us an' all, but this ship is too gorram small." He continues to shovel grey mush into his mouth as if it's in scarce supply. "Can't get up to as much as I'd like… if'n you get my drift." He inclines his head in Simon's direction then leers around at the other men.

Sickened, Simon watches Jayne eat, wondering whether _anything_ has changed between them since being marooned, bar the fact that they screwed each other senseless in order to pass the time. He has no intention of being anyone's whore, trophy wife or punching bag and he finishes his meal immersed inside a subdued silence.

When the freighter yaws precariously then comes to an abrupt landing, no one is more pleased than Simon. With backpack slung over one shoulder he's first off the ship and onto the jetty, looking around him at a bustling planetoid.

"Remember what I said," warns Captain Günter as they say their farewells.

They walk in single file down the ramp and as Jayne heads for the main exit of the anchorage, Simon lingers behind. There's little reason, as far as he can see, to keep up.

"Where d'you reckon we go now?" says Jayne as he drops his bag on the sidewalk and looks around in complete bewilderment at the scurrying mass of people.

"I couldn't care less," says Simon. The man is so dense he hasn't even noticed that Simon's been giving him the silent treatment for the last few days.

"What's got your skivvies in a knot?"

It becomes apparent that this is a rhetorical question when instead of waiting for an answer, Jayne picks up his bag and strides off.

"Hey!" Simon is forced to chase him along the sidewalk and hates every racing footstep. "You think the way you treated me on the Mariah was acceptable?"

Jayne scans the conservatively dressed townsfolk then, picking his moment, tugs Simon into a quieter side street. "If'n you reckon I liked being that way with you then you're as moonbrained as your sister," he says in a low voice. "I done what I done so as to keep us both safe. Didn't know who was listening in. Gorramit, Doc." Jayne runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "You know rut all about the kinda men that work these runs. You know nothing."

Simon hears truth in these words and wilts. He wants to hear more, but can feel eyes burning into them from every direction. "Let's get that wave sent," he says. "We can talk later once we find somewhere to stay for the night."

Jayne draws in a couple of deep, calming breaths then nods perfunctorily and as they turn back into the main drag of the town Simon has a feeling that for the first time since they've been together, he's actually come damn close to having his lights punched out.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he says to a well-dressed lady who's studying the display of austere clothing in a nearby store window. "I need to send a wave urgently. Is there any place in town where I could do that?"

After listening to Simon's educated voice and polite manner the window shopper is won over and breaks into a genteel smile. "Yes, indeed. The mailing station is just across the way there to your left," she says, indicating a red brick building with an arched entranceway.

"Thank you, ma'am," he says deferentially, "and a good day to you."

As they're crossing the street he murmurs to Jayne, "_Wo de tien a!_ I think we have hope."

"Do we?" Jayne looks at him, anger gone, but no hint of happiness in evidence.

Simon's unsure whether they're talking about the same thing. He wants to have this out with Jayne, but there are more serious things to worry about right now than the rocky state of their relationship.

Jayne obviously agrees. "Best get moving then," he says with a sigh. "There'll most likely be one hell of a wait to send that message and the sooner we're away from here the better."

The mercenary is right. The line for the Cortex coils like sleeping snake around the foyer of the building and, after purchasing a slot-card, Simon bites his nails in nervous anticipation. "What do we say?"

"Well, we could ask 'em how the thieving's going and what the weather's like out in the black. Or we could just tell 'em we're alive and need picking up. S'your choice, but I know which one I'd take."

Simon can't quite tell whether Jayne's still angry with him or just teasing. "Do you want to talk or should I," he stutters, "and do we record a message or send it live?"

"Quit gabbling, Doc, you're giving me a headache."

Yet again, Simon is unsure of the big man's mood and so he waits his turn in silence, chewing off more of his nails as the line creeps towards the row of Cortex terminals. The closer he gets, the more daunting this seems and when he's finally sitting in the bucket chair he stares blankly at the machine.

Jayne leans over to talk to him. "If'n you don't shift your butt into action we'll most likely both get strung up."

Simon looks around at the restless locals and swiftly inserts his card into the reader then when the machine blinks into life, he glides his fingers over the screen.

"It's old. You gotta use the buttons."

Jayne's hints are helpful yet delivered so sarcastically that Simon would walk out if it wasn't for the fact that he may be seconds away from making contact with his sister for the first time in a year. Keying in Serenity's contact code he waits for uplink and when Wash's face appears on the display in front of him it's such an out-of-verse experience that he looses all power of speech.

"_Wo de ma._" The pilot is gazing back at them with eyes that are round and startled. "Honey, there are dead people on the Cortex."

"Wash." Simon's voice is broken up from an overload of emotion. "It's us."

Zoë's face comes into view, as strong and unrattled as ever. "I'll get the captain," she says. "Keep talking to them, baby."

Wash's eyes grow even bigger. "But you were killed. There were Reavers."

"Jayne came to get me." The simple explanation causes a flood of warmth to seep through Simon.

"Well now, I didn't count on seeing your ugly faces again," says Mal Reynolds, appearing on the view screen. "Has to be said, though, it won't be a bad thing having you back on board."

"That rash still ain't cleared up yet then, Mal?" Jayne guffaws at his bad joke and Simon can't help smirking as the captain's expression slides automatically into 'Jayne' face.

"Seems to me we should get started on picking you two boys up as soon as possible." comes the Shepherd's voice. "So if you'll tell us your whereabouts."

"Augustine," says Simon and as he's listing the co-ords the screen is filled with two girlish faces.

"We have a memorial for you." River cocks her head to one side. "I change the captures every week." Her smile is a mile wide. "You were never there when I talked to you and now I know why."

"River, how have you been? Is everything okay?"

But before she can answer Kaylee takes over.

"Simon, _juh jen sh guh kwai luh duh jean jan._ We missed you so much. Serenity ain't been running happy without you."

"It's good to see you, Kaylee."

Jayne looms in over Simon's shoulder. "Weren't _I_ missed then?"

"Course you was. How can you say such a thing, Jayne Cobb?"

"Wasn't certain I heard my name mentioned there."

All of a sudden it becomes a riotous affair with Jayne teasing and Kaylee pouting and the rest of the crew champing at the bit to add something to the conversation. It's fantastic to hear everyone after this long and yet so overwhelming that Simon becomes lost for words and as the seconds tick down toward zero he's almost relieved. Mal just has time to inform them that Serenity will be docking at Augustine in approximately one week's time when the link is lost.

"We're going home," Simon says, looking up at Jayne with eyes that feel as if they're shining with a renewed enthusiasm.

"Maybe."

In contrast the answer is drab, no colour of emotion present, and Simon tenses up. "Come on," he says, pushing through the crowd, a surreal experience after being separated from society for so long. "There are way too many people here," he mutters as he's barged out of the way by a burly man who's also trying to leave the mailing station in a hurry. Simon knows it's a contrary statement to make--he's been yearning for this ever since they made up their minds to leave Gainsborough--but it still comes as a shock to the system.

The hotel across the street looks a more peaceful venue and after checking that Jayne is still beside him, Simon hurries inside the holo-glazed doors. Framed captures on the walls show images of all the available suites and Simon is hoping that there's a quick automated booking system when an elderly man appears from behind a swinging door that's marked 'kitchen.'

"_Ni hao,_" he greets them. "How may I help you?"

"Two rooms for one week," says Jayne in a somber voice, his earlier good spirits long gone. Just a cover. The man's perfected those over the years.

"_One_ room," interjects Simon loudly. Jayne gives him a warning elbow to the ribcage, but right now Simon couldn't care less about other people's prejudices. He's determined not to hide any longer. "A double suite," he says in clarification.

The man looks them up and down. "Doubles here in Augustine City are for married folk only."

Smiling, Simon knows that the fates have once again been kind to them. Taking the backpack off his shoulder, he rests it on the counter then tugs open one of the zippered pockets. He'd once dismissed this as foolishness and it may well prove to be so, but, rightly or wrongly, he needs to make a stand.

"We _are_ a married couple," he says, digging out the certificate and sliding it across the sleek wooden surface then watching with pleasure as the man unfolds the document and reads it slowly. It triggers memories of great sex, great _lovemaking_ and afterwards a private moment when he'd carefully inked in those etched words on the legal paper from the Notary's office.

"Jayne's not a man's name," says the hotelier, taking off his reading glasses and letting them clatter across the counter.

The mercenary studies the certificate then glances at Simon, a conspiratorial smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"You saying I ain't a man?" He leans over to threaten in his own inimitable style and Simon feels a quiver of arousal burn through him.

"Gonna tell me this is fake too?" The mercenary shoves an ident card in the hotel keeper's face. Of course it's faked--forgery is another of Jayne's talents--but the man is shaking in his boots too much to notice. Handing over the key to his best suite he watches with disdain as his newest customers take the stairs to the second floor.

As soon as he closes the door closes Jayne grins broadly. "Where the gorram hell did you get one of them certificates from? The look on that feller's face when you said we was hitched." He splutters with laughter. "'S almost worth getting bound over for."

"We could be arrested for this?" This is not something Simon's considered and is the reason why acting on impulse is never a good thing.

"Could for sure in a place like this, but I don't reckon we will. Being _tongzhi_ ain't a crime in the Core and I don't reckon they're the kind to stick their noses into federal business." Jayne pauses. "Could've told me about it first though."

"_I_ could have told _you_?" Simon's amazed. "And what about you, treating me like your whore and keeping me in the dark while you when we were on board the Mariah?"

"Explained that already. I didn't know who was listening in." Jayne folds his arms. "Didn't want anyone messing around with my _wife_."

"If you read the wording on that certificate I think you'll find out that you're _my_ wife."

The look on Jayne's face is a picture and causes Simon to erupt into a bout of laughter that's so debilitating he can't fight back when he's being bundled face down onto the bed.

"I ain't nobody's wife," says Jayne, letting out this sotto voce grunt that's full of intent.

Simon's pants come down, belt slithering free of the loops, and when that leather strap tightens around his wrists, the laughter subsides into rhythmic sighs of excitement.

"Reckon you deserve that spanking right about… now."

Simon shivers with anticipation and when that big palm finally slams down onto his right buttock he's already on the point of orgasm. After six more smacks--sounds echoing erotically around the room--he's begging helplessly for Jayne's cock and the moment it slides, slick and hot, inside him he comes in a flood all over the floral patterned quilt.

The sex becomes an act of sheer decadence; Jayne fucks him slowly, singling out every hot spot and teasing it with fingers and lips until Simon's squirming and demanding, "more, more, _please_." With his hands still tied he's unable to participate and this supercharges him until he's at screaming point.

"That's it, pretty man, you yell out loud. Show that bigotted old _gan ni niang_ what's he's missing out on." Jayne unloops the belt and flips Simon over, then, with a finger replacing his cock, he buries his mouth in Simon's crotch, working him over with his tongue then sucking him off with deep pulls until Simon's rock hard and craving _everything_.

"Want you in me now," says Jayne, crawling up the bed to unfasten Simon's wrists then leaning in to kiss him with fierce stabs of his tongue. "Want you to fuck me."

Simon is more than willing and sinks into Jayne, lost inside a fantasy where this is their honeymoon night and he's taking Jayne's virginity. To begin with it's a thrill but then, as he leans over, trailing the flat of his tongue up the ridge of Jayne's spine, it dawns on him that this week may be more about goodbyes than new beginnings. The sex lulls to a slow burn and as reality takes over, Simon runs his fingertips over Jayne's body, mapping every dip and plane and storing them away in his mind.


	16. Chapter 16

As Jayne predicted no action is taken against them, however, if looks could kill then they would have been six feet under the moment they stepped outside their room. As strange as it may seem, Simon discovers that this doesn't bother him in the slightest. In fact it's hardly noticeable since they stay locked in their suite making the most of what time they have left, neither of them speaking about what the future might hold when they return home.

After waving Serenity to make final arrangements for pick up in twenty hours time, Simon reaches desperation point. He doesn't want a life of pretence; he can't live through that again.

"We don't have to go back," he says. "There's a shuttle leaving today for Occident Skyplex." Simon tips the contents of his backpack onto the bed and watches Jayne's face as the federal bank drafts spill out all over the coverlet.

"What in the hell?" Jayne picks up one of the checks and squints at it as if he can't believe what he's seeing.

All of a sudden Simon knows why he was too scared to tell Jayne before now. He was frightened that the man would suggest exactly this.

"How the rut did you get your hands on these?"

"They were hidden in the Mayor's house."

"If they're listed as stolen then-"

"They're not." Simon's shaking and whether it's from excitement or nerves he's not entirely sure. Georgia Griffiths' escape plan could turn out to be their own salvation. "Jayne, think about this. We can use them to set ourselves up somewhere. We can have everything we want."

Jayne rests his hands on Simon's shoulders. "I reckon everything you want is gonna be landing right here in a few hours."

"Not everything." Simon closes his eyes. If only he were that brave man he's been pretending to be for the last few months.

"You ain't ever gonna be happy just walking away from your sis like that."

"At least River knows I'm alive now." Simon's tearing himself apart over this. "She'll understand."

Jayne shakes his head. "We tell them about us. If'n they don't like it, well, _then_ we can leave."

Simon tries to imagine what it would be like to announce to everyone that he's sleeping with Jayne Cobb, that he's _in love_ with Jayne Cobb and it seems as insurmountable as that grim mountain range standing between Gainsborough and Hartford. "I thought I could do it," he mutters, shielding his words behind a hand that's cupped over his mouth. "But I don't know if I can."

Jayne glares at him. "Well, I ain't going through all this just to run off to some hidey hole for sly rich folk, that's for gorram certain."

"So what do we do?"

*

Nineteen hours and several desperate fucks later, they wait apprehensively at the harbour. Simon's stretched open and aching, but apart from that he has nothing to show from this strange relationship except, maybe, a greater understanding that people are not always who they appear to be.

He'd expected Jayne to be fiercely angry with him: to run off, drink himself stupid, get involved in a brawl and end up in jail. Once again, he's misjudged the mercenary badly.

"This is one humped up plan," says Jayne. "Been thinking maybe we _should've_ caught that earlier shuttle."

Simon laughs loud and long and it's a bittersweet reminder of how much he's grown to like this man. "When we're stuck out in the black with only Kaylee's chocolate cake between us and starvation, you remember those words," he says with a smile.

Their fingertips make contact and Simon pushes away the thought that it may be the last time he gets to touch Jayne in public with any show of tenderness.

"Hell, they're coming. I know the sound of that burn off anywhere." Jayne draws back his hand and looks up at the sky, eyes protected by a pair of night-black sunglasses.

"What do we say? What do we tell them?" hisses Simon, the underside of Serenity's belly growing larger by the second.

"Told you already, Doc, that's up to you."

Further conversation becomes impossible when the engine noise reaches deafening levels and Simon feels a sense of abandonment, as if he's leaving the most important thing in his life behind on the quayside. This is a mistake.

But when the ramp extends and the doors to the cargo bay open, Simon's feelings alter dramatically. How could they not when he and Jayne are suddenly surrounded by family for the first time in so many months.

"River!" He swings her around. "You look wonderful." She does: cool, collected and beautiful with just a hint of strangeness hidden behind her dark eyes.

"I knew you were alive," she says. "It took you a long time to find us." Is it Simon's imagination or is she staring pointedly at Jayne?

"I…" Simon falters.

Lost for words, he's once again filled with that stupid need to retreat when Kaylee throws herself on him, kissing his cheeks. "Your hair! It's so short." She rubs her palms over his shorn scalp and Simon wishes he'd not kept it clipped. His discomfort grows in leaps and bounds when she bubbles over with enthusiasm. "Can't say how happy I am to have you back," she continues, unabashed joy spilling over from every pore.

"We waited for you." Mal tugs at the bridge of his nose. "After Jayne went back to get you the Reavers hit us hard. We tried to fight our way through 'em, but it was impossible." He pauses. "We should've waited longer."

"If'n you'd tried to get to us you'd only've got ripped to pieces," says Jayne matter-of-factly.

"That maybe so." Mal claps a hand on Jayne's shoulder. "That maybe so, Jayne, but it don't alter the fact that we should've come back."

Simon can't decide which one of the two men standing together has the bigger issue with guilt. "You wouldn't have found us," he says, feeling a need to comfort the captain. "We were hiding out in the mines."

He has no regrets. If Serenity _had_ been waiting for them when they exited the pit then he and Jayne would never have shared more than a single, waterlogged kiss.

Stepping inside the ship, Simon is slapped in the face by an onslaught of mixed emotions. It's exactly the same as he remembers: the smells, the sights, the sounds. He has to try and slot back into the role of brother, doctor, crew member... but it's not going to be easy.

When he'd first bought passage on the Firefly--smuggling his sister on board inside a cryogenic crate--he'd never have believed that such dregs of society could one day become his family. He was a frightened criminal. River was suffering from dementia, her brain stripped free of all its in built protection, and yet, despite everything, they were accepted by these people.

*

That evening Kaylee plans a celebratory meal to mark their return from the dead. Whilst the rest of the crew make excited noises over the fresh food she's picked up from the market in Augustine City, Simon makes eye contact with Jayne. The look may be short lived but it's telling -- his lover has no great expectations of him.

"How did you survive down there?" Zoë's as forthright as always, asking the question that everyone else has been silently wondering.

As the mercenary recounts the story of their year together, telling everything except for the most important truth of all, Simon grows increasingly claustrophobic from the pressure of Kaylee's infatuation. She doesn't say a word; she's just _there_ \-- all the time.

"Do either of you need medical attention?" asks Book. "You both look a mite emaciated." The shepherd stares fixedly at Simon. "And weary."

"'S what happens when you been living the way we have." Jayne looks up from his food, eyes brim full of memories and Simon knows that he's the only one who can see them.

He remembers everything too: the horrors of that mine, the filth, the squalor, the times when he thought they were both going to die. He remembers the way they kept each other going and the way Jayne called him _xin gan_ exactly when he needed it. He remembers the sex: quick urgent ruts, slow heaving fucks, the games, the kinks, the _love_. Oh god, he thinks of all this and he doesn't get hard because he's a coward who's never going to have the courage to own up to his feelings.

Kaylee attaches herself to him like a limpet. She can't stop beaming, rosy cheeked and filled with delight, and if only Simon could want her instead. He'd give up everything…

"Cap'n, do we got the cashy money for a stop over at Persephone?" she says. "Reckon we could all do with some vacation time." She sparkles with excitement and Simon feels dull in comparison.

Mal's fork remains poised an inch away from his lips as he looks around the table at everyone. "I could maybe pick up a job or two there. Need to if we're to keep going much longer."

"Business that bad?" Jayne looks up from his plate.

"Slow and not so steady. Same as always." Mal shrugs.

"I boosted a pile of coin back in Hartford." Jayne digs deep into the pockets of his army jacket and heaps platinum onto the table. "Might help a ways."

It's more than simple generosity; it's a commitment to stay with Serenity and Simon knows it. The challenge is laid down in front of him. He may as well have been slapped around the face with one of those leather sniper gloves.

"You feeling alright, Jayne?" Mal smirks.

"Mal!" Inara's dainty palm descends down upon the captain's weather-beaten hand and he looks suitably chastised.

"Not that we ain't grateful."

"Reckon we owe you for picking us up," says the big man tersely.

"Well then, way I figure it seems only fair we have a few days stopover on Persephone." Mal claps a hand down on Jayne's shoulders and the longer it stays there the more Simon's guts churn with jealousy. "While you're there, see to getting yourselves fixed up at the medical centre. Shepherd's right; you both look done in."

*

During sleep cycles Simon thrashes fitfully in bed, battling insomnia as he lies awake and wonders if Jayne will come to him. Of course, the mercenary never does. He's made it perfectly clear that a decision is needed and it's not his to make.

It should be easy. It's not as if Simon is ashamed of being sly. He's never been happier than when he had the opportunity to revel openly in his sexuality, even in Augustine City where bigotry was rife. The problem seems to be the weight of expectation on Simon's narrow shoulders. All his life he's struggled to be a good doctor, a good son, a good brother, a good man -- the kind of man everyone thinks he should be.

Depression creeping ever nearer, Simon longs for some privacy. There's no ounce of it to be had living within Serenity's thin walls and he's left with this constant, griping pain that neither drugs nor masturbation will cure.

Meal times are the worst of all. It's then that Simon is forced to sit opposite Jayne and _not_ talk to him and _not_ touch him and try not to think of how much they've lost. No one can ever understand.

He spends his days organising the infirmary, sterilising his instruments with the autoclave then placing them in orderly lines in the equipment drawers. Sometimes he comes across Jayne cleaning and arranging his weapons in similar compulsive fashion. They both need the distraction.

"Ain't you happy to be back, Simon?" asks Kaylee curiously one day when they're busy sorting containers in the cargo bay. "You don't seem so in my eyes."

"Of course I'm happy," lies Simon. "It's just that while I was away I was used to having more space."

"We'll be docking at Persephone soon," says Kaylee brightly. "There's a whole planetful of space there."

And a whole planetful of people too, broods Simon. He steals a moment to watch Jayne who's stacking crates at the far end of the hold, sweat glistening on his skin, St Christopher medal swinging on its chain and mesmerizing Simon as it catches the light.

"They have this fancy casino in the city," says Kaylee. "We could dress up fine and go gambling and dancing."

"Simon doesn't gamble." River looks down at them from the overhead walkway. "Simon doesn't take risks." Using the gantry she swings upward then perches on the guard rail, walking along the narrow steel bar without even a wobble.

Sometimes Simon wishes his sister would come out and say what she's thinking. He's positive that she knows about him, about him and Jayne, but it's as if she enjoys tormenting him with this silent knowledge.

"It ain't a risk to get gussied up and go have some fun," says Kaylee her lips forming into a moue.

Simon remembers a conversation in that cave a lifetime ago which turned out to be the beginning of something special. He denied then that he was guilty of leading the girl on and, yet, here he is doing exactly that.

"I'm sorry, Kaylee, I can't."

"Oh." The girl wilts. "Oh, but there's plenty of other things to do. We can choose when we get there."

Just say it, he tells himself. Say that you can't spend time with her. Say that you can't be her lover. Explain _why_ you can't be her lover. "Maybe," he mumbles, hating that word, hating himself even more for saying it.

The sound of smashing wood followed by a loud "_tamade_," causes them both to look around.

"Y'okay, Jayne?" says Kaylee, hurrying over to the mercenary who's squatting on the floor surrounded by broken planks.

"'S nothing. Just a gorram splinter." Jayne sucks at his thumb.

Simon kneels next to him taking hold of the man's right hand, as he examines the wound. "Come to the infirmary," he says, squeezing Jayne's fingers. "I'll need surgical tweezers to get this out."

They walk through the ship in studied silence. That single touch has electrified Simon and his stomach churns with excitement at the idea of them finally snatching a moment alone.

Jayne sits on the bed, shoulders hunched over, his wounded hand outstretched and Simon is reminded of a large, hurt puppy. Sterilising the skin, he prizes the splinter from the ball of Jayne's thumb then, doctoring over, he leans in, breath coming heavy and fast as his lips crush against Jayne's. Mouths open wide, they kiss fiercely and having insinuated himself between Jayne's thighs, Simon wraps his arms around Jayne's neck, pulling him closer. He's hard, so unbelievably hard and he's on the point of pushing Jayne back onto the bed when the sound of footsteps echoing along the passageway acts as a sudden wake up call.

"Doc, you got a minute?" Mal appears in the open doorway, hand resting against the jamb. His eyes flicker between Jayne and Simon, a measure of intrigue present. "Don't mean to interrupt."

"You're not," says Simon carefully. "Jayne got a splinter from breaking up those old boxes and I was just removing it." He can't help thinking back to their first shared bath and the way they laughed off this very situation. He longs, with all his heart, to be back at the farmhouse.

"Done now," says Jayne, hopping off the bed. "I'll leave you folks to it." His face is a mask.

"You and him got a problem?" asks Mal after Jayne's boots diminish to a faint echoing thud.

"No. Why should we?" Simon's hackles rise. "We managed well enough for a year."

"And I gotta say that's a shocker to me. Reckoned you would've killed one another within a week."

Simon rubs a hand across his head impatiently. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Hey now." Mal perches on the edge of the bed. "Just keeping an eye on the well-being of my crew."

"_Duibuqi_," says Simon. "Coming back is overwhelming… for both of us." More than anyone could ever guess.

"Understood." Mal nods. "'Though if you ever need to talk you know where I am."

Simon's shocked. Malcolm Reynolds is more closed off than anyone he's ever met in his life and the idea of sharing personal talk with the man is bizarre to say the least. "I'll bear that in mind," he says with what he hopes is a grateful smile.

"Now, about what I came here for." Mal slaps both hands down on his thighs. "River's been a sight more busy while you were absent. Been using her as my gunhand and I'm gonna be carrying on doing exactly that. Two good shots may gonna keep us on the winning side for a while longer."

Simon's jaw drops. Arguments against this ridiculous plan are ready to launch from the tip of his tongue when he remembers how great it feels to be useful. River may be his baby sister, but her mind is slowly repairing itself. She's a competent adult with a right to make her own choices in life. "If that's what she wants then it's fine by me," he says with absolute sincerity.

*

The moment Serenity touches down on Persephone it becomes a race to be first off the ship and onto the quayside. Simon is most surprised by Mal who's more intent on spending time with Inara than he is at trying to forge new deals.

"Remember how I almost laid down my life for you here?" the captain teases his Companion.

"I remember a reckless idiot ruining one of my contracts and not knowing which end of a sword to hold," she answers with a smile that's filled with warmth and something much more intense.

The captain's a different man since he and Inara stopped fighting and Simon envies them their closeness. Jayne used to look at him like that, eyes full of need, full of love.

"I bought my dress here." Kaylee smiles with delight and Simon succeeds in repressing a shudder at the memory of that horrible pink gown.

"I wonder if they got anything else as pretty in that store. I need something fancy for tonight," she continues.

Jayne doesn't linger around for long. Simon watches the big man stride away, head and shoulders above the crowd that mills around the dockside.

"Simon, what do you reckon?" Kaylee's looking askance at him, those big eyes unknowingly exerting endless pressure on him.

"A dress, yes," he stammers, tracking the conversation back to its origin. "You choose a dress. I have some medical supplies to buy."

Turning tail Simon runs away, ignoring the whores and rent boys who are soliciting work on the streets. Eavesdown is twice as seedy as he remembered it -- he's grown used to a quieter style of debauchery of recent times. His first port of call is Badger's place where he offloads a couple of the banker's drafts for a reasonable price. Business concluded, he's walking back through the market when he hears an angry voice coming from a run down weapons merchant and stops dead in his tracks.

"I laid down thirty credits on this forty-four sniper rifle a year or so back and you're telling me you've gone and sold it?"

Stepping inside the doorway Simon peers around. Eyes finally adjusting to the gloom, he makes out a familiar hulking figure leaning against the counter.

The person Jayne is addressing makes Badger look like a high class banker from Capital City. "Didn't think you was coming back for it," the man says, scratching his head persistently. Simon strongly suspects lice. "Things happen. People die."

"Double crossing _hundan_ like you die, that's for gorram sure." Jayne stands, arms folded, legs apart, his fingers beating a silent tattoo against his right hip.

This is a dangerous situation. Simon had forgotten how easily the mercenary manages to fall into these. "It _was_ a long time ago," he says, trying to ease the tension down a notch.

Jayne wheels around to look at him, a smile momentarily erasing the scowl. "Don't matter shit to me," he says. "A contract is a contract and I ain't gonna quit until I get my hands on that gun that I'm owed."

"Pick another," suggests Simon. "I'll buy it for you."

"Don't want another piece. I _want_ my forty-four," says Jayne stubbornly.

"Listen to your friend." The man's right hand slips below the counter and Simon's not sure whether he's about to draw or reach for a panic button. Either way it's not good.

"_Jayne_." Simon tries to convey the worry that he's feeling.

"You and me done good business in the past so I reckon I can refund your credits," the store owner eventually concedes, won over by Jayne's size and general demeanor.

"Take the money then come and have a drink with me." Simon resorts to cajoling. If the mercenary gets any more worked up he'll be spending the whole of his downtime in the cells. Or somewhere far worse.

Jayne's face relaxes into a grin. "Kay, Doc. Sounds good to me."

Once the store owner has written out a credit note for the full amount of the deposit, Simon and Jayne take a taxi to the City Park area, which is about as far removed from the squalor of the docks as anyone could imagine. Choosing the biggest hotel on the strip, they hunt out the bar then sink into a deep comfortable couch with a bottle of New Canaan brandy and a pack of cigars in front of them on the marble topped table.

The prices here are _very_ expensive and, because of this, the hotel is deserted, with the exception of a few members of staff who lurk discreetly, waiting to serve. Talk flows as easily as the drink and Simon plays pretend, convincing himself that things are normal between them -- the way it was before they made the mistake of coming back.

With several of glasses of fortifying liquor inside him, Simon informs Jayne he's going to the bathroom but, instead, heads for the front desk where he books a suite for the night. When he comes back the mercenary is sucking on one of his stogies, long legs sprawled decadently across the table and Simon feels that inevitable fist of desire clenching at his belly.

"Fuck, Jayne," he murmurs, toppling back beside the man. "I've missed you. I want you." His arm slinks out along the back of the couch, fingers rubbing at Jayne's neck.

"You want this?" Jayne reaches down to his crotch and adjusts himself.

Simon's shaking with need. Half-drunk and far too eager, he hooks a leg around Jayne's shin, then grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him closer, his fingers inching up Jayne's thigh until he cups that bulge, kneading at it possessively.

"Ain't you worried someone might see us?" Jayne's still smoking that cigar and maybe it's this that makes him seem different, cold, detached. Jayne Cobb is rarely detached.

"It's okay; I've booked a room," Simon says, stumbling over the words as he tries to find where his feet have gone.

"Hah."

It's almost a laugh and yet it sounds so far removed from anything humorous that Simon blinks owlishly.

"You got us a room to fuck in." Jayne stubs out his stogie then barks out another laugh and it's just as bitter, just as aggressive. "How considerate of you, Doc."

"I… I thought-"

"You thought we'd have a quick rut then you can go back to pretending that you ain't sly. That you don't like to hump fellers."

"It's not like that." Simon's confused. "It's… I don't know why it's… Fuck!"

"You were gonna stick it to me and then go meet up with Kaylee and take her out on the town."

Simon says nothing.

"Weren't you?" Jayne's voice is getting louder by the second.

"Yes," he admits. "But not because I wanted to."

"You're a liar," says Jayne. "Worse still, you're lying to yourownself." He pours them both another glass of brandy. "I'm gonna make this easy for you. I'm gonna take a few of those checks you got stashed away in your pocket and I'm gonna walk away from here because, honest to rutting god, I can't take any more of this _gou shi_ any longer."

Both men are on their feet now and Simon swings a fist which connects feebly with the side of Jayne's jaw. "You're not going anywhere," he yells and, even now, Jayne can't seem to bring himself to punch Simon back.

Incensed by the situation, his world tinted by expensive brandy, it's as if Simon's seeing clearly for the first time in years. "I'm going back to Serenity and I'm telling everyone the truth," he says making a grab for Jayne's shirt.

The big man shoves him away. "And if'n I believed you meant it then maybe I'd go with you," he says dismissively, but his hands still reach for Simon, pinching, grabbing, intent on hurting, full of pain.

Simon lashes out again and Jayne catches hold of his fist, dragging him closer until all their combined frustration gives way to bout after bout of helpless kissing.

"I'll tell them," Simon breathes. "I'll tell them. I swear."

*

They return to a ghost ship, the rest of the crew out making the most of this short-lived spell of freedom.

Simon's sobering up fast, but he's also pumped high on adrenaline and more than ready to run for the hills. Jayne's as bad, watching warily and prowling the living area like a caged animal waiting to pounce.

"You're making me more nervous." Simon chews at his lip.

"'M sorry." Wandering off, the mercenary returns a moment later and sits at the table, laying out a range of knives and different grade whetstones in front of him. Slowly he cleans and sharpens each bade and Simon watches, wishing he was sharing the task, the way he did back home in Gainsborough.

One by one, couple by couple, everyone returns, waiting impatiently to find out why they've been summoned back to the ship via the comm.

"So then, what's all this about?" snaps Mal once everyone's seated around the table. "It ain't often I give folks, myself included, some vacation time. Can't tell you how much I'd appreciate the chance to enjoy it."

To begin with Simon doesn't answer. More panicked that he's ever been in his life, he counts out the drafts into two separate piles and then hands the final one to the captain for examination. "This is part of the reason," he says eventually.

"Is it real?" questions Mal, turning the piece of paper over in his hand.

"Genuine and unlisted by the Alliance," says Simon.

"_Wo de tian a!_" Wash's eyes glaze over at the bottomless pit of money on the table. "You? _You_ robbed a federal bank?"

"No." Simon manages a watery smile. "But the money isn't important."

"_Aiya_. Not important? This is a small fortune. No, wait, this is a big fortune." Wash sounds stunned.

"_Bi zui, honey_" says Zoë.

Nervousness evolving into full blown fear, Simon opens his mouth then swiftly closes it again. This is by far, the hardest, most personal thing he's ever had to do. Taking a deep breath he blurts out, "Jayne and I are together. We have been for months."

The profound silence that follows is broken only by the grind of steel against stone as Jayne hones the blade of his best hunting knife.

"You mean you _was_ together." Kaylee looks up. "Folks get sexed where they can. I know that."

Simon blushes red and hot, the burn reaching his hairline within seconds.

"It ain't like that, Kaylee," says Jayne, laying down his knife. "The doc and I have a mind to stick with each other."

"We do," agrees Simon.

The mechanic's eyes flood with tears and Simon wishes he could find a hole to crawl away and hide in.

"But you ain't sly," she says. "I'd've known if you was sly."

"I'm sorry, Kaylee, but I am. I should have explained this a long time ago. I behaved badly."

"It ain't your fault." Her voice is barely audible above the constant hum that's coming from the bulkhead lights.

Simon _knows_ it's not a failing to be _tongzhi,_ however this doesn't curtail the immense guilt he's feeling from not owning up sooner. He reaches for Kaylee's hand but she curls her fingers over defensively, her broken heart an impenetrable wall between them. He never knew how much it would hurt him to hurt a friend this badly.

"We'll go," he says decisively, turning his attention to the pile of money on the table. "This is making you all uncomfortable so Jayne and I will leave as soon as possible." Simon pushes a pile of checks towards the captain. "I've split these," he says. "One half for us and one half for you." He looks at his sister. "River, you'll always have a home with us."

The girl smiles that strange, ethereal smile which always makes her seem so much older than she is. "Simon," she says. "You should learn to listen to the silence in between the words."

When she was young River spoke with a vocabulary way beyond her years, but Simon was always able to understand her. He wishes he could go back to those days.

"Something here is bugging the hell outta me." Mal looks accusingly from Simon to Jayne and back again. "And that's why you two'd ever have a notion that any of us would be _uncomfortable_ with this. Do I seem like a prejudiced kind of a feller? Long as my boat runs true then I'm the happiest man in the verse."

Jayne's still busy sharpening his knives, but the expression on his face tells Simon what an idiot he's been, full of self-importance and unjustified propriety. He slides his hand towards the big mercenary and their fingertips make the briefest of contact.

Mal continues speaking. "Can understand why li'l Kaylee here might have an uncomfortableness seeing as how you led her on for so long but-"

"I'm fine, Cap'n," Kaylee interrupts, forcing a smile onto her face as she turns to look at Simon through eyes that are wet and achingly sad. "I'm happy for you both. I am for real. Don't go. None of us want you to do that." Shuddering in a deep breath of recycled air she adds, "I havta go check on the new coil injectors. Seems like they were running a mite shaky when we touched down."

The girl gets up from the table, escaping as quickly as she can through the hatchway and Simon goes to follow her but is pushed gently back into his seat by fingers that clamp fiercely down upon his shoulder. A cup of tea is forced into his hand then Shepherd Book occupies the empty seat next to him.

"Leave her be a while, Simon. Kaylee is one of the strongest, most compassionate young women I've ever met, but she needs a little space to come to terms with things."

There's no one here with a greater understanding of this than Simon, but empathy doesn't assuage his guilt or suppress the overwhelming urge to take the blame for _everything_. "I should have said something before."

Jayne's only two feet from him across the table but he may as well be half way across the verse. Simon wishes everyone would disappear just for an hour so they can talk things through. He's grown to rely on this over the course of the past year.

"And I agree with you, son, but what's done is done." Book takes a sip of his drink. "What I'm most concerned about is whether you and Jayne are entering into this relationship of yours a little too hastily. Being stranded together for a length of time can cause feelings to exist that aren't always true to a person's soul."

"It ain't a case of rushing things, preacher," says Jayne. "Doc and I know what we want."

Book nods. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Probably not all you'll be hearing neither." Jayne flashes that set of white teeth.

Once upon a time, Simon would have curled up with shame at the mercenary's customary display of crudeness but not anymore. Instead he smiles back at Jayne, emotionally drained but relieved that the truth is finally out in the open.

"Now that's just… No. I'm not even thinking about that." Wash looks more startled than ever. "I do _not_ want to know what you sound like when you-"

"Wash." Zoë looks at her husband.

"I know. I need to shut up."

"You do, dear."

"There's one thing left confounding me a ways." Mal's still frowning. "You could've taken off with this." He points at the piles of blank federal checks. "Been set forever. Mind explaining to me why you didn't you do that, Jayne? All this sudden display of generosity ain't exactly your style."

The mercenary grins. "Case of coulda, woulda, shoulda," he says. "But the _chun ren_ here said we was to bring 'em back and share 'em out."

"Damn glad of it too," says Mal, his eyes glued to the stacks of paper that are piled on the table. "This'll keep us flying for a sight longer than expected."

*

"Which fool was it who said we had to bring those drafts home to Serenity?" Simon straddles Jayne then leans over to nibble at his lower lip. "I forget now."

It's late; people have migrated off to make the most of Persephone's nightlife and Simon finally has Jayne where he wants him, naked in his bunk.

Jayne kisses back, long and deep. "Thought foolishness was to do with telling folks we're fucking?"

"That wasn't foolishness," says Simon. "That was an act of bravery."

"Yep. You're a brave man with a big mouth." Jayne tucks both hands behind his head. "Now go put that big mouth to good use, will you."

As Simon kisses a lazy path down Jayne's body he wonders how comfortable it will turn out to be living in such close confinement on the ship.

"Besides," adds Jayne, "you talk in your sleep and I know how much family means to you. Couldn't've let you go through with that moonbrained plan of yours knowing how rutting miserable you'd be for the rest of your days."

Taking Jayne's cock between his lips, Simon rests his cheek on a muscled belly and sucks languorously, lavishing slow attention to every inch of that _ji ba_ whilst he contemplates how this new phase of their life is going to turn out.

A long time ago he'd believed that the Firefly could never belong to anyone but Mal Reynolds, but he was wrong. Papers may state that Serenity is the property of the captain, but she's home to nine people--a closer knit family it'd be hard to find anywhere in the verse.


	17. Epilogue

Serenity finally stops flying eight years after Jayne and Simon rejoin the crew. 2528 proves to be a bad year for them all: Inara loses the baby she and Mal had been so desperate to love and, just two months after that, Derrial Book is killed trying to negotiate with an Alliance officer. It happens because of a stupid misunderstanding which makes the loss of the gentle enigma that was the shepherd all the more difficult to bear. Unable to cope with any more sadness and with Serenity on her last legs, the crew make the difficult decision to go their separate ways.

Mal and Inara settle on Sihnon, bringing up three children and bickering happily every single day of their lives. Kaylee returns home and ends up marrying her first ever boyfriend, the man who was responsible for instilling her with that life long love of engines. Zoë and Wash set up a haulage company -- one hundred percent legitimate to Mal's disgust. And River, finally cleared of her refugee status, becomes a lecturer in behavioural psychology at the Academy in Capital City.

Simon has always known where he wants to live out his days and it isn't one of the central planets with a controlled weather system and every luxury available on tap. Jayne is in complete agreement with him and they return to that unlisted, unnamed rock in the spring of 2529 to find it as deserted as they had left it.

It takes a lot of effort and a large amount of money but finally they turn Love Knot Farm into a working ranch. With communications in place, they run a small but successful business for eighteen years and Simon is never happier than when family comes to visit them.

At age sixty eight, Jayne's heart suddenly falls silent and Simon is thankful. Thankful for every minute they spent together. Thankful for being brave enough to seize that chance of happiness offered them by the elusive fates.

Gratitude, however, is not the first emotion to overwhelm him. Bitter, angry and full of despair, he howls out his anguish, and with tears staining his face he rides out to the long meadow, stopping near to the tree where Jayne first taught him to shoot. Tethering his horse, he scrapes away the covering of grass and roots then begins to shovel blindly at soft, pungent earth. It takes him six hours to dig a grave big enough to hold that body and when he's finally finished he looks at the hole in the ground and howls once again like a wounded animal at the thought of having to bury the man he loves. He leads his horse home, too broken to remember how to ride her, and once she's stabled for the night he has to face a horrifying reality as he walks into the farmhouse alone. There are things that need doing. Tenderly washing Jayne, he lays his body out then sleeps next to him one last time.

Simon makes a brief call to River on the Telefonix and is stunned when, one by one, everyone turns up at the farm. They're here to help him load Jayne onto the trailer of the mule. They're here to help him lower Jayne into the ground. And, most importantly of all, they're here to help him find a way through his grief when that reality hits home and his world falls apart.

Jayne Cobb's place of birth is listed as a set of co-ordinates and it seems appropriate that records show his place of death to be a similar set of numbers. The two couldn't be more different.

_Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in -- Robert Frost._

FIN


	18. Jayne's Barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Wildannuette who wanted an interlude from The Way Things Turn set in between Chapter 16 and the epilogue.
> 
> Simon has never been happier since setting up home with Jayne in Gainsborough, but things might not stay that way if the reports coming in are to be believed.

Simon leans against the fence, watching the transport take off from the small loading dock Jayne's built on the outskirts of the farm. As soon as the ship’s safely broken atmo he pushes himself up onto the top rail and, shielding the sun from his eyes with the flat of a hand, he enjoys the sight of the Jayne's muscles flexing as he sorts through his latest deliveries from off rock. "Will you be finished soon?" he calls. "I thought we were going for a ride."

Jayne stops loading boxes onto the mule then looks up and guffaws. "You can ride me any gorram time of the day you want, Doc. Y'only have to ask."

Simon's still amazed at the hold Jayne has over him. It's been five years since they settled here on Gainsborough Ranch--Love Knot Farm as it’s known locally--and the big man still has the power to make Simon stiff in his underwear from a single word, often just a syllable will do.

Jumping off the fence he strolls over to the mule. "What have you got in these boxes?" he asks in confusion. 

"Just stuff for my barn." Jayne's grin is wide and toothy and he's obviously full of himself. "Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over."

Jayne's barn is indeed a mystery to Simon. As far as he can see, on the few occasions he’s dared to take a look inside, it still houses nothing more than a thousand broken things that can be of no use to anyone. Not much different to when they first arrived, only there's so much more of the junk now.

Stopping what he's doing Jayne suddenly pulls Simon close, looking at him, like he often does, as if it’s the first time he’s laid eyes on him. “_Wo de ma_, Doc. I am the luckiest rutting sumbitch in the verse." He takes Simon's mouth in a kiss, pushing his tongue deep inside for Simon to suck on and they make out for a while against the mule until Simon is aching with need and grinding himself shamelessly against Jayne's crotch.

"I think you'll find I'm the luckiest," he laughs when he finally pulls away, wide eyed and aroused beyond belief. "Hurry up, _ai ren_. It's going to be a nice evening. I'll pack us some food and we'll take the horses out -- once you've finished restocking the scrap yard, that is."

Jayne looks wounded. "No need to be like that, Doc," he grunts. "It's all useful stuff in there. No different to your fancy surgery."

"Which is immaculately clean and full of medical equipment that’s frequently used to save lives around here." Simon has built up a part time practice to tend to the few people who've taken up residence in Gainsborough. The population mostly consists of transient speculators, but there are a few traders who’ve set up business in the town and brought their families to live here.

"Like I said, useful just like my barn," laughs Jayne. He swings an arm back around Simon and pecks him on the lips. "I'll see you up at the stables in two ticks, Doc."

Simon heads back to the house, over the moon at having a chance to relax with Jayne now that the yearlings have finally been sold at a good price and shipped off to their new owners. The weather is glorious and they must make the most of it because winter will soon be on them and then it'll be months of snow, blazing fires and love making buried under a heap of blankets. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but he loves to see Jayne in all his naked glory.

Packing a spread of pies, jerky and cakes into saddlebags and adding a couple of bottles of apple cider at the last minute, he then goes to the gun cupboard to collect rifles and shotguns. He has a love of hunting now. The natural order of killing to eat makes sense to him. Life finally makes sense.

Jayne’s waiting for him at the stables, horses tacked up and ready, and once Simon has fastened the saddlebags and guns into place on his own mare he passes over weapons and a bedroll.

"Hope you ain't forgotten anything important," says Jayne and Simon shows him the miniature bottles of spiced and mentholated oils that always give an added buzz to their sexual adventures. 

"Your favourites, _ai ren_," he says with a smile that’s laden with intent.

Jayne slams Simon against the side of the building and works his lips over every available patch of skin. "The things you do to me," he groans, licking into Simon's mouth. "Some day I’m gonna wake up in my bunk on Serenity and find out this has just been one long _gan ni niang_ of a dream."

"Then what will you do?" Simon smiles against that bearded mouth and slides a hand inside Jayne's pants, curling his fingers around the solid _ji ba_ that's already wet and wanting. 

"I'll march on down to the med bay to find that prissy doctor then I’ll show him exactly how good it feels to be fucked by a big old merc."

"He'd love that," laughs Simon. "He always did have a fondness for hairy man apes, even if he didn't want to admit it at the time." He begins to use all that natural lubricant pouring off Jayne to glide his fingers up and down.

"You'd better quit that now if'n you're wanting a thrust later on," growls Jayne. "I keep telling you I ain't a young man."

Regretfully Simon pulls his hand out of Jayne’s pants and licks his fingers suggestively. "You're a perfectly healthy specimen and I'm going to be getting a lot of you later on."

"All of me," grins Jayne as he mounts up.

"All of you," agrees Simon as he boosts himself into the saddle of his own horse, Isis and leads the way up into the hills.

The thing that Simon loves most about living here, apart from having Jayne all to himself, is the lack of boundaries. He feels as if he owns the whole world and is richer in every way than when he was living in the lap of luxury on Osiris. They ride where they want to, have each other whenever and wherever they feel like and, when it's hot, they spend entire days as naked as the moment they arrived in the verse.

When dusk falls they dismount from their horses and wait patiently amongst the scrub with shotguns at the ready, hoping to pot a couple of rabbits to roast. The bramble patches nearby are full of them and after a relatively short while they have two well fed bucks in the bag. 

Jayne builds a fire whilst Simon guts and cleans the carcasses in the stream, spitting them onto stakes then placing them over the flames on a framework of soaked sticks.

"We haven't done this for so long," he says as he sits turning the meat. 

"No, we ain't and you say the same old thing every gorram year." Jayne guffaws and pours out two mugs of cider adding a splash of whiskey to each. He passes one to Simon. "To us."

"To us." Simon leans against Jayne, feeling himself harden from the close contact. His fingers linger over Jayne's crotch as he unzips his fly and tugs his cock free from the clothing. "You take over the cooking, _ai ren_. There's some important business I have to deal with right now."

Keeping clear of the fire Simon lays his head in Jayne's lap, curling around him and suckling softly at his _ji ba_.

"I ain't certain..." Jayne mutters.

"I won't make you come," promises Simon, looking up at him. "But I need you in my mouth. I’ve been thinking about it all day."

Jayne sighs with delight, pushing his pants down for easier access and stroking a hand through Simon's hair as he nuzzles into him, lavishing him with soft licks and gentle sucks. "You can do that all gorram night if'n you've a mind to."

Simon looks up again and smiles. "I fully intend to, but don't let the dinner burn." 

As promised Simon keeps it at low rev, enjoying every moment as he pushes his own pants down to his thighs and lets his cock rest stiff against his body, giving it an occasional comforting squeeze. It's as perfect an evening as he could have possibly wished for.

When the rabbits are done and the fire is burning steadily Jayne plates up the food then turns his attention to Simon, stripping him of his clothes with a tenderness to his actions that no one else will ever see. Not for the first time Simon finds himself wishing that they could have had a child together, but this is more than enough. More than he could have ever hoped for, he knows as Jayne kneels and reverently takes him into his mouth for a moment, rolling his tongue around the knob and then swallowing him deep into his throat. It's almost enough to make Simon come there and then and, with a smile, he pushes Jayne away from him. "You're too good at that."

Jayne laughs, stripping off in his usual uninhibited way and they sit together, lounging naked against each other as they eat and drink and talk about life. 

This is love, Simon knows for a fact. An intense yet comfortable longing to be with someone forever. 

*

The next couple of weeks are a much needed vacation for the two men. Neither of them are ever idle, but with fewer livestock to care for they can devote more time to each other and less to looking after the ranch. 

Whilst Jayne is down in Gainsborough, picking up some items from the mercantile and having a good old gossip, Simon decides to get some maintenance done on the solar panels to make sure they’re waterproof before the snow sets in. He’s practically finished when he hears the mule coming up the driveway. 

“Simon, I got something important… What in gorram hell are you doing up that ladder? I reckon we had an agreement since you almost fell off the roof.”

“I’m done now.” Simon slides downwards, not even touching the rungs and smiling at Jayne as he lands neatly on the ground. He’d be laughing if it wasn't for the fact that he knows something’s wrong. Jayne never calls him by his given name unless he has worries preying on his mind. “What is it, _ai ren_?”

“Them reports we been hearing over the Cortex. Well, they ain’t just rumour no more.”

Simon feels a chill trickle down his spine. For a month or two now they’d been receiving waves mentioning Reaver sightings in the sector, but up until now nothing had been confirmed.

“They took out Sheerness. Killed most everyone and left nothing behind but charnel,” says Jayne in a somber voice. “The ones who did survive hid in a cellar and don’t have much to pass on, but they said at least three ships rolled in full of them _hundan_.”

“That’s worrying,” says Simon carefully. However frightened he might be, he knows not to reveal his feelings. Jayne has a strong emotional reaction to Reavers and for good reason too. His sisters were slaughtered in front of him when he was a boy and his fears have grown exponentially since Simon suffered a near rape by a loner right here at the farm.

“Clarry and Della from the mercantile are organising a town meeting at the Mayor’s house tonight so we can discuss what needs to be done.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” says Simon in as calm a voice as he can muster.

The day passes by with both of them lost to their thoughts, keeping themselves busy doing chores to take their mind off things. It doesn’t work. Simon remembers the horrendous time they suffered down the mines. The bodies that had been flayed alive and left to hang. The claustrophobia as they were trapped by the subterranean lake. The sheer terror as their hiding place had been discovered and they had to swim up through that narrow cleft between the rocks. He’d prayed several times over for death and almost drowned once.

After supper they get bathed and dressed up in best clothes and it almost feels as if they’re going on a date. They haven’t had many of those in their lives together. It’s a good walk into town, but both of them feel like the exercise and as they approach the Mayor’s house Jayne looks sideways at Simon and it seems their thoughts are on a similar wavelength.

“I remember that dinner you made me here. Made me feel like something special for the first time. Like I was valued.”

“There’s no one I could value more,” says Simon and it’s the truth. Up until coming to Gainsborough, River had meant everything to him and of course he still loved her with all his heart, but Jayne had been and still was a revelation. His joy.

“‘Nough of this sentimental _gou shi_, Doc.” Jayne grins. “We got important things to discuss tonight.”

“You started it,” mutters Simon as he follows him into the open door.

No one lives in the Griffith House. It's been adopted as a meeting place for town business and general get togethers. They hold anything here from shindigs to bake sales and it even serves as the school house for the few youngsters living in town. The other buildings--the ones that are still standing after the Reavers hit--are too big and impersonal for a microcosm community as theirs is now.

"Welcome, boys," says Clarry. "Come through. Della's made some iced tea, just the way we like it." He winks conspiratorially at Jayne and Simon hopes the man doesn’t offer around too many drinks tonight. He’d like them both to make it back home in one piece.

The six children are out playing in the yard at present and it seems the right moment to jump in at the deep end and discuss the current Reaver problem without any little pitchers getting scared.

Simon and Jayne take a glass of tea then sit themselves down on the couch and from looking around at the small group of townsfolk it's apparent, from the palpable fear in the room, that no one's brushing this problem aside.

"So," says Clarry. "What’s everyone’s thoughts on the matter?"

"Sheerness is no more than a week away from here," says Finnegan, the lawyer from Hartford. "But I'd suggest they're more likely to have headed for the more populous parts of the sector. After all what is there to plunder from us?"

"Contents of the gorram mine for one thing," says Jayne. "They was based up there last time and it must've been for a reason."

"You know that for a fact?" says Finnegan with an air of disbelief about him.

"We absolutely do," says Simon haughtily. "We were trapped inside there surrounded by hundreds of Reavers for days."

The room falls silent a moment. Neither Jayne nor Simon enjoy talking about that time and it’s remained a secret to all but their closest of friends.

The quiet spell is eventually broken by Valerie, a mouse of a lady who organises the delivery runs and general Cortex services. "I've been reading and plotting every sighting and report and it seems as if they're closing in rather than heading away from us."

The tension increases. "So," says Clarry. "What do we do?"

"Make plans to defend ourselves, is what," says Jayne, getting to his feet. "They can have the mine if'n they want it, but they ain't having our rutting town. Reckon we get started tomorrow building barricades and setting up trips and snares on the outskirts. If we’re ready for ‘em it ain’t gonna be a problem."

"Or," says Marshall who runs the arable farm near their ranch. "We leave."

Jayne looks at him incredulously. "Just up and go! Y'aint serious, Marsh?"

"Jayne, I know how much this place means to you and Simon," says Della. "But some of us have children and none of us want our loved ones to die at the hands of Reavers. We'll go somewhere safe and come home once the threat is over."

This makes sense to Simon, but apparently not to Jayne.

"And what about our livestock? We just gonna put them on a ship and send them off to a fancy Skyplex hotel for a vacation?"

"We could take them to Mal and Inara's," says Simon, trying to be rational and keep Jayne calm. "I’m sure Zoë and Wash would transport us and the horses at short notice."

Jayne glowers at him. "So you're as keen as the rest to desert, huh, Doc?"

"It does seem to be the sensible option." Simon shrugs. Love Knot Farm will always be theirs; they've rebuilt it twice now. They can do it a third time.

Jayne sits back down, folding his arms and glaring at everyone.

"Let's put this to a vote," says Clarry. "See how the land lies as such. Those in favour of shipping out until the threat is over please raise your hands."

It's unanimous bar one big paw. Simon feels like a traitor, but he has to say how he feels and he can't go through yet another Reaver attack. "I'm sorry, _ai ren_," he murmurs.

"Ain't your fault," says Jayne and Simon is relieved that the big man’s being so level headed about it, not a common character trait in him, but perhaps he too is starting to see the possibilities. They'll stay with Mal and Inara on Shadow. They'll visit family. They'll go on dates. Simon actually feels positively light headed.

"I'll arrange a transport ship for us all then," says Valerie in a small voice. "I do hope everyone is planning on returning."

Aside from a few sentimental speeches, the meeting is all but over and, with barely one iced tea drunk between them, Simon and Jayne find themselves trudging back up the track to the farm.

"I'll wave Mal and Zoë as soon as we get in," says Simon, brimming with enthusiasm. "Then we can work out the logistics of shipping and rehousing the horses. Blaze will be the biggest problem. He's an angry sod when he doesn't get his own way."

"He ain't gonna be a problem 'cause he ain't going nowhere," says Jayne pleasantly. "You take yourself off to Shadowville or Capital City, wherever the hell you want, and I'll see you back here when you're done running."

"Jayne, don't be ridiculous," says Simon indignantly. He knew this was going too well. "It's just a farm, my love."

"It ain't just a farm to me,” growls Jayne. “It's home and I won't allow it to be overrun by a few rotting _hundan_." Leaving Simon for dust, he strides off across the yard, disappearing into the shadows.

Simon's terrified because he knows Jayne is deathly serious about staying behind to protect the place. He finds him in the kitchen making a pot of coffee and decides on some devious and underhanded tactics. "One soldier, however big he is, cannot defend an entire town against a Reaver attack," he says, slipping both arms around his irascible, wonderful, stubborn man.

"Town can go to hell far as I'm concerned. I'm only here to look after our home." Breaking free of Simon, Jayne pours two mugs of coffee then sits down at the table and starts scribbling on a notepad.

"Jayne," says Simon in a wheedling tone that feels all wrong nowadays. "Think of the fun we could have off world. The games we could play." He straddles Jayne's knee. "All that time just to spend fucking each other."

"Didn't think you was a trained companion," says Jayne and yet his voice is roughening with arousal. 

"Just a whore," says Simon, biting into Jayne's neck. "Remember how I dressed up for you? I can do that again if you like."

All the time he's speaking, he's wriggling out of boots and clothing until he's naked from waist down, his cock jutting urgently upwards, hard beyond belief at the memory of his one night spent as a woman.

“I remember my girly boy full well. That was some dirty time we had in that brothel.” Jayne unfastens his pants, pushing them and his underwear down to mid thigh then reaching behind him for a dish from the counter. "Gonna slick you up proper, _baobei_," he says, slathering himself and then thrusting his greasy fingers into Simon, "You're as tasty as buttered corn now, all hot and sweet and salty. Would eat you out only I have to get in you now and bounce you on my knee."

Fuck! Simon's panting with desire, close to coming just from Jayne's filthy words. He lets Jayne lift him and then impale him on that trunk of a _ji ba_. Cries out as Jayne digs fingers into his hips, jostling and jiggling him on his knee until his nerves inside are singing with delight.

"Want me to keep playing with you like this?" says Jayne, his buttery fingers sliding upwards underneath the white button down shirt to tweak hard at a nipple. “Shall I tease your little titties some?”

Simon throws back his head and keens with pleasure as Jayne drives him wild with these miniscule movements and wild words. He's going to explode. He's about to erupt like a volcano. Come like a fountain in an upward stream of spunk. The butter smell pervades his senses and Jayne bucks into him hard with one slam of the hips.

"That's it, my pretty one," growls Jayne as Simon arches back and comes in a torrent, without one touch to his cock. Wrapping his fingers tight around him Jayne brings him back to earth with a steady stroke, then standing up, still lodged deep inside, he pushes him onto the table and fucks him with such powerful thrusts that Simon mewls with delight. Moments later Jayne's coming with a roar and Simon's a whimpering wreck following a dry but overwhelming second climax, scant minutes after the first.

"I love you, Simon."

Jayne doesn't disguise his words with Mandarin and pet names and Simon can't halt the tears that are running down his cheeks. “I love you too.”

*

"Come on, boys. Time to board," says Clarry and then he stands there a frown on his face and hands splayed on hips when he sees that neither of them have any luggage. "You ain't thinking of staying, you _feng le_ pair of idiots."

"Home is where the heart is," smiles Simon. Although it's not true at all; his home and his heart are where Jayne is and he won't be parted from his man, not for all the credits in the verse, nor the Reavers for that matter. "You take care and we'll see you soon," he says, holding up a hand in a goodbye gesture.

"Don't be reckoning on having any hooch left in the store when you get back," laughs Jayne.

"Anything there is yours, my friend," says Clarry. "Take what you need and, most of all, stay safe."

"I ain't intending on getting ate," says Jayne with a wink. "Lessen it's the fun kind of way."

"Jayne," hisses Simon, amazed that even after all these years he can still be shocked by the man's crude mouth.

They watch the transport take off with Jayne still guffawing with laughter at Simon's rosy cheeks. "Whole rock's ours now, pretty boy. Gonna put them pouty lips to better use than a sulk?"

Despite the fact he's sorely tempted to fall to his knees and suck Jayne off right here, Simon knows they have more important things to be doing. They talked long into the night discussing ways and means of securing the farm. Simon's job is to make the farmhouse safe plus install some monitoring equipment so they can see exactly where any threat is coming from.

Jayne's going to rig up traps in the outlying areas and also to devise some kind of safe room where they can go if needs be. He says he has just the place in mind which is bound to be the old ice store. The man uses up all his imagination in the bedroom.

Simon has one other important thing to take care of at home whilst Jayne's at the mercantile stocking up.

*

They have a dedicated source box for business purposes and that evening they sit in the den listening to live messages and reading through reports on the Cortex. Jayne’s mapping every co-ord in his scruffy notepad and Simon’s logging everything onto a datagrid so he can reference the information quickly if needs be.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” says Simon quietly after a while.

Jayne gets up and paces the room. “I already planted some surprises for them _gan ni niang_, and if they so much as come near the farm they’ll get a gorram shock.”

“It won’t stop them,” says Simon. 

“Vera’ll do that just fine,” says Jayne and then he stops striding and comes to a halt by Simon, resting his hands on his shoulders. “Wave Zoë. She and Wash can take you someplace safe.”

“I won’t go without you,” says Simon and he takes hold of Jayne’s hand and kisses it. “I’ll stay by your side. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Jayne draws Simon to his feet and they kiss, old fashioned and slow, nurturing each other with gentle touches and the closeness that comes from just holding. The night time chores are done in a similar fashion as if they physically can’t bear to be apart and, other than checking the barricades then collecting a capture device to keep an eye on the monitors, tonight is no different to any other.

“Reckon the horses’ll tell us as soon as something is amiss,” says Jayne, lying naked on the bed as Simon views the images. “That said, you are still a gorram genius,” he adds as he peers around the side of Simon and looks at the screen. “Reckon you could rig up a camera on us sometime?”

“You want to make some dirty captures?” says Simon with a slow smile of realisation.

“Sure would be fun,” says Jayne. “Want some of you wearing a negligee and me spanking your pretty white ass all covered in silk and come.”

“Fuck, Jayne.” Simon had thought they’d be making love tonight, but the way Jayne’s looking at him with lust filled eyes turns him shivery and hot all at the same time. 

He makes a sudden grab for Simon, pushing him prone onto the bed, and then spreading his butt cheeks he buries his face and begins to tongue him, circling his hole and then worming his way inside.

“_Wo de tien a_,” murmurs Simon as his senses are assaulted by the delicious brush of beard scouring his tender skin and the slithering wet muscle that’s pushing its way in. He humps the bedclothes, thrusting shamelessly back against Jayne’s mouth and enjoying the inexorable ascent to orgasm as he sprawls bonelessly across the bed with Jayne eating him out, slurping and licking at him and then rolling him over the moment his climax begins, to swallow every mouthful of come.

“I gotta have you,” says Jayne and his voice is deep and gritty as he hoists Simon’s legs over his shoulders and fucks into him.

“You got me. In fact they’d have to drag me away from you,” says Simon as he gazes earnestly at Jayne’s face. “I’m here where I belong and this is where I’m staying.”

“I’m where I belong,” grins Jayne. “Inside your tight little ass.”

*

They’ve never had as much sex as they do that week. Whether it’s adrenaline based or the fear of losing each other Simon has no idea. All he does know is that in between turning the farm into Love Knot Fort they fall on each other constantly, licking and sucking and fucking each other to climax after heady climax until both of them are near enough dry

They’re in the middle of a long lasting sixty nine on the couch when there’s a distressed sound from the stables. 

“Get your skivvies back on and fetch the guns from the cupboard,” says Jayne as he heads straight to the kitchen door to see what he can see.

"_Tamade_," grunts Jayne. "It's a ship. I gotta get to my barn. You stay here."

Simon looks up. He might not be able to make out the detail, but there's no distorted outline from bodies. Nor is there a blazing trail of radiation burn. "Jayne." Simon grabs his arm. "It's not Reavers."

"Hell, I ain't taking no chances," says Jayne, stomping off and Simon shrugs and watches the ship's thrusters turn as it readies to land.

Like a one man army Jayne reappears, covered with bandoleros of bullets zigzagging across his chest. His gun belt is festooned with grenades. He has an assault rifle slung over one shoulder, a laser pistol and an automatic in his holsters. None of this is entirely unexpected except for the small issue of the rocket launcher he's carrying.

"Jayne?" says Simon.

"Yeah, Doc." Jayne advances on the ship, weapon trained on the rear hatch which is opening slowly.

"Where did you get the launcher?"

"From my barn," says Jayne, never taking his eyes off the target and Simon feels as if he's been told all he needs to know.

"Is that a rocket in your pocket or are you just glad to see me, Jayne Cobb?" says a familiar voice from a familiar person wearing a familiar brown coat. 

"Mal? Gorrammit, if it ain't Mal Reynolds," yells Jayne, putting the launcher down and marching forwards with his hand outstretched. "What in rutting hell are you doing here, cap'n?"

"Well see, we were out and about and we reckoned we'd drop in for some high tea." Mal takes Jayne's hand, pulling him in for a hug and that's when Simon sees Zoë, Wash and Kaylee emerge from the loading bay followed by River, older but still graceful, flying towards him like a bird.

"_Meimei_," he gasps, clinging on to her. "You're here."

"Of course." She gives him that withering look that always makes him feel like a simpleton. "You needed us."

"D'you think we was gonna let you have all the fun, Simon?" Kaylee steps into his arms and he whirls her in a spin. "I ain't been in a battle in years."

Simon feels the burn of happy tears. "I- I'm honestly overwhelmed."

"When you told told us Jayne was being an idiot what choice did we have?" Zoë laughs at the aggrieved grumbling sound coming from the big man.

"Zo, that ain't fair," says Mal. "Jayne's always being an idiot. Just more so on this occasion."

"Was I okay landing in the paddock?" says Wash. "Only I figured if we needed a quick getaway it would be the best place."

"Of course," says Simon.

"Reckon it's a good thing you didn't choose the dock or the meadow," guffaws Jayne. "I rigged them up with mines this morning."

Simon's aghast. "You didn't think to tell me," he says. "I could've been blown sky high."

"I was gonna, Doc." Jayne's eyes widen. "Only if'n you recall we got distracted soon as I got in."

Simon blushes, remembering the hot and heavy sex session on the kitchen table: one of their favourite places to fuck. "Come in," he says to take his mind off his embarrassment and, draping an arm around Kaylee and River, he leads them to the house. "I have venison stew on the range if anyone's hungry."

Wash looks at Zoë. "You need to make me stew."

She smiles sweetly at him. "I will the day you shoot a deer, honey."

*

The house is filled with the sounds of people and, deliriously happy, Simon hops into bed and curls around Jayne. They may not be here for a party, but in some ways it's better. They're here because they're family and they won't let Jayne and Simon down.

"You coulda told me you'd asked them to come," says Jayne.

"I didn't ask them anything," says Simon. "I waved them all to explain what was happening in case we didn't get another chance." He waved to say goodbye. "Was that wrong?"

"Y'aint got the capacity for doing wrong, Doc," says Jayne, scooching down the bed to take Simon into his mouth.

Simon never imagined he'd be so unashamed of being loved by anyone and as Jayne works him with lips and tongue he moans out his pleasure.

*

"Jayne, you appear to have the entire Federation arsenal in here," says Simon, looking around in amazement at the contents of the military bunker that's been installed beneath the floor of the barn. "How did you? When did you? How didn't I notice?"

"Told you it was just as useful as your gorram surgery." Jayne looks around proudly at his handiwork.

Mal and Zoë are equally as dumbstruck.

"Reckon I'll wave Inara and reassure her I'll be safer here than at home," says Mal eventually.

"Ain't no time for tattling," says Jayne. "We need to get ammo and weapons into every room so's we can deal with them _hundan_ soon as they show a hint of them ugly faces."

"You're the boss," says Mal with a grin and in this instance he's right and Simon has never been more proud.

It's a full day's work to turn Love Knot Fort into an action ready fortress, but by evening time they're done. River is collating sightings. Simon is preparing med kits to keep in each room. Wash is staring greedy eyed at the huge pot of rabbit casserole heating up in the range. The others are cleaning guns and setting up reloading stations when Kaylee comes running in from feeding the horses.

"I seen two Reaver ships," she says wide eyed with fear. "I seen them landing out to the east a ways."

"You certain, li'l Kaylee?" says Mal.

She stands hands on hips looking at him defiantly. "I know ships and I know Reavers and I know what I saw."

"All the information supports this," says River.

"How many of them are there?" says Zoë.

"We can count 'em after we kill 'em," says Jayne, buckling on gun belts and strapping up webbing, ready for a one man mission by the look of things.

"There ain't no point going out there, Jayne," says Mal, clamping a hand onto his shoulder. "Let them come to us. Then we have the advantage."

Jayne paces the room, full of nervous energy. "I know you're right, Mal. But this is my home."

"And you don't want Reavers here," says Mal. "I understand that rightly enough and that's why we ain't gonna let them in." 

Simon is so relieved that Mal is here right now. Jayne does listen and defer to him often nowadays, but he would have never done so over this. He keeps his eyes fixed to the surveillance monitors.

"I can hear them," says River in that other worldly way of hers. "There's nothing in the mine and there's nothing in the town and they're coming for us."

"Let 'em come," says Jayne, picking up Vera. "Then we can get on and make mincemeat of the rutting things."

Tension mounts throughout the evening. Talking diminishes as they eat bowls of hot food, each of them too busy with their own thoughts to resume conversation afterwards.

When they do come it's in a swarm, hundreds of them pouring up the tracks and across the fields. The dull sound of mines exploding is accompanied by an inhuman wail as body parts fly into the air. Simon knows all too well that they cannibalise each other, but he now has graphic evidence of their gruesome capabilities on the capture screens.

Jayne runs up the stairs and takes up position in the bedroom window, firing his rocket launcher at the centre of the pack and Zoe is alongside him with grenades. The others take up strategic positions and Simon is about to join them, picking up an assault rifle when the terrified whinnying from the stables distracts him. Why had they been so neglectful?

Racing outside he opens the stall doors and lets the horses run loose. They'll be fine. He and Jayne will be able to round them up afterwards and at least this way they'll be safe. 

It's only when he tries to make his way back to the house he realises that he's been totally cut off and is now directly in the path of an endless stream of Reavers. Firing his gun he fights his way through to Jayne's barn, those hands clawing at him, scraping at his skin, the stench foul as he falls backward into the bunker. Fueled on adrenaline he has a burst of speed which is enough to allow him to secure the doors.

He's got no flash light. No commlink. There'll be no power in here 'cause Jayne doesn't do electrics. He has no way of knowing what's going on outside. All he can do is pray that the others will survive the battle. The thought of being stuck here alone brings nightmare flashbacks and he curls into a ball listening to the sound of Reavers rummaging through all Jayne's beloved junk to get to him.

*

Simon has no idea how much time has passed when the sounds of battle diminish into silence and are replaced by voices calling for him.

"In here," he shouts, but his throat is dry and the words go missing. He tries again as he attempts to undo the bolts in the dark: "I'm in the bunker."

"Simon, open up," says Jayne, banging on the steel doors. "You hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." The final bolt slides out of its housing and he's free and in Jayne's arms and all's right with the verse.

"I thought you was dead." Jayne holds him so tight he can hardly breathe. "What in rutting hell are you doing in here?"

"I went to let the horses out and I got cut off," says Simon. He's angry with himself. "I feel like such a coward. Is everyone okay?"

"We're all right as rain, Doc," says Mal. "And you ain't a coward. Far from it. Though some of Jayne's stupid must be rubbing off on you I reckon. Going outside in the middle of a Reaver attack without telling anyone what you have planned ain't exactly using the workings of that big brain of yours."

"Brain must have leaked out somewhere," says River, her eyes lighting up with a wicked smile.

When they emerge into the light, dawn just creeping across the sky, Simon sees what a hard fought battle it's been. The ground is littered with bodies, but this time it's only corpses of Reavers and Simon feels a surge of pride in his belly. "You did it."

"_We_ did it," says Zoë firmly. "One of the reasons we could take them out so easy was because they bypassed the farmhouse. They must’ve been following you into the barn."

"Dumb critters," says Jayne, keeping an arm wrapped around Simon. "Got a busy time ahead of us getting rid of them carcasses and setting the farm to rights."

"Some of us have some horses to catch," says Simon

"Thanks to you them horses are alive," says Kaylee. "I'll help, if'n you like."

"I'd like that, Kaylee,"says Simon with a smile. "I'd like that very much indeed."

*

At the end of a long few days they settle down at the kitchen table for that high tea Mal was after when he arrived. They've earned it for sure. There's always plenty of home grown food in the stores and they lay out a spread that's fit for a king. In fact there's so much to eat that Simon can't help wondering why Jayne's opening cans of preserved meat all dripping with that strange jelly substance.

"Well I never. Must be Christmas come early." says Mal, taking a knife and cutting off a chunk of the soft unspecified substance and ramming it into his mouth. "I love this stuff. Haven't had any since I was a boy."

Kaylee sighs in delight, forking up slices of the ham directly off the plate. "Almost better than strawberries," she says.

Simon loves the fact he's still bemused by them. They might be his family, but he's constantly surprised by their weird and wonderful ways.

"This pie is better even than the ham" says Kaylee, her plate overloaded. "Never reckoned you to be a cook, Simon."

"Jayne and I share all the tasks," says Simon. 

"Cepting he ain't allowed on ladders coz he has a tendency to fall off 'em," guffaws Jayne.

"One time, _ai ren_," smirks Simon. "And you're never going to let me forget."

"Nope," says Jayne. "Nor will I let you go up ladders again." He grins. "Though I like you well enough up against them."

Zoë coughs and moves the subject along. "Are you honestly telling me that you go out hunting, Simon?"

"Like to see any of you try and out-shoot him," says Jayne, topping everyone's glasses up. "He's a better marksman than me for certain."

"Only because you need your eyes testing," laughs Simon, although inside he's bursting with happiness because Jayne’s so proud of him.

"You fit here," says River suddenly. "I can't picture you anywhere else."

"Nor can I, _meimei_," says Simon, stretching an arm out to her. "Amazing as it might seem."

"A turn up for the books that's for sure," says Mal and then he raises his glass in a toast. "To all of us: here, near and gone."

Shepherd Book will always be with them in spirit.

*

They leave in a flurry of hugs and fond farewells with Simon and Jayne waving them off from the upper paddock.

"I ain't happy to see 'em go exactly," says Jayne and then he grabs hold of Simon and unbuckles his belt one handed. "But it’s shiny to have you all to myself."

He makes fast work of the button and zipper, pushing down Simon's work pants and shorts until he's semi-naked, hanging onto Jayne and thrusting shamelessly into that big fist.

"That's it, pretty man, come for me. Come for me now," croons Jayne and Simon does just that, erupting fiercely over him as if it were weeks since they'd fucked rather than hours.

Weak-kneed and blissed out Simon reaches up for a kiss. "I missed this," he says. "So very much."

After making out for a while against the fence Jayne sets Simon on his feet and tidies him up. "You tend to the horses and I'm gonna see if I can remember where the rest of them gorram mines are planted. Don't wanna have the next transport to arrive here go an explode on us."

"You're the boss," says Simon and he laughs when Jayne preens a little.

"I ain't, but I appreciate the sentiment," Jayne says and, slapping Simon on the ass, he heads off to the barn, probably to collect some mine hunting equipment. He's bound to have something of that ilk hidden in there.

Simon watches him go whilst smiling secretly to himself. He's been collecting a few things of his own and has a surprise in store for Jayne tonight that involves lingerie, sex toys and a capture device. Shiny indeed.

 

\---end


End file.
